


Fairest Creatures

by Lomonaaeren



Series: Fairest Veela [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M, Ridiculous, Romance, Veela, finishing school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 105,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5479868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course, Harry <i>would</i> be the only person in wizarding history to get turned into a Veela by a chain of coincidences and then compelled to attend Veela finishing school to learn about his new powers. And the only one of those who has to get instructed by Draco Malfoy, for that matter. Who does not look any better with wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fell Swoop

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this idea a little while ago and tried to get it to stop being ridiculous. It refused. In fact, it gathered more ridiculousness to itself. Therefore, I decided to write it before it got so ridiculous that it made my head explode. This will be updated on Sundays. The title is from William Shakespeare’s first sonnet: “From fairest creatures we desire increase,/ That thereby beauty’s rose might never die.”

Harry lay on his stomach in the hospital bed and thought. If he had done  _certain_ things, he wouldn’t be here right now.  
  
He went over them all in his head. He didn’t have much else to do. The Healers said he had to stay still until his wings finished growing in, and given that they were already huge and drooping things like palm fronds, obviously the Healers thought they might go on until they draped all over the floor.   
  
*  
  
First, he shouldn’t have had cornflakes with sugar for breakfast. The Healers had explained urgently that it was cornflakes with sugar that had caused all the trouble.  
  
Apparently, small bits of the cornflakes had got lodged in Harry’s teeth. He knew that; he could remember it himself. He had been prodding at his teeth with his tongue throughout most of the morning as he wrote up a report on the previous case and then waited to be assigned another one. He had been trying to reach a particularly stubborn piece when the fire had flared and a garbled call for help had come through.  
  
Harry had shot to his feet, recognizing Ron’s voice. He had only paused to ask where Ron was, and gone through the fire the minute he heard the name.  
  
If the cornflakes hadn’t been distracting him, the Healers believed, he would have heard the word “Veela” and been more prepared.  
  
Harry had tried to explain that he could resist Veela allure and so it wouldn’t matter if he heard it or not, because he didn’t have to take special precautions to be around Veela like most people. That was when the Healers had stopped and given him identical patient looks from every side of his bed.  
  
They spoke a subtle language, but one Harry had learned to interpret through long experience. They meant “shut up, you’re not a Healer and don’t have our fancy training.”  
  
*  
  
Second, the sugar from the cornflakes had probably made his movements faster and more frenetic than they really needed to be when he emerged into the big, ancient, abandoned manor house. And the sharp movements had attracted the transformed Veela’s attention.  
  
Harry interrupted at that point. “There were huge glowing runes on the floor, though.  _Blue_ glowing runes. Don’t they have something more to do with it?”  
  
“If they were  _red_ , maybe,” said the Healer who had called herself Haleah Kilhoun. “But blue runes are harmless.”  
  
Harry tried to argue that they were still huge glowing runes. In a circle. With big five-pointed stars connecting them.   
  
“Nonsense,” said Kilhoun. She leaned over and aimed a finger between Harry’s eyes, which was a non-subtle part of the Healers’ language. “Five-pointed stars are also harmless, unless the runes are red. The notion that they are not is part of an extended and illogical prejudice against wizards who use five-pointed stars in ritual magic. If you knew…”  
  
And she had gone on and on, until Harry resorted to nodding meekly, which the Healers would have accepted less well if they had known what  _that_ meant in his personal language.  
  
So Harry ran through the runes, with the sugar making him move faster than normal, and the transformed Veela jerked her head around and screamed, and came floating off the floor, her huge wings beating so hard that Harry had to duck away from the wind that came with them. He stumbled straight into one of the stars.  
  
“See?”  
  
“No, that was still just coincidence,” Kilhoun had told him.  
  
The Veela slashed out with one hand at him, one that bore both glinting claws and a fireball gathering mistily in the center of her palm. Harry whirled easily out of the way. Then the Veela threw the fireball.  
  
Harry couldn’t duck that one, but he didn’t need to. He flicked his wand down and murmured the spell he had come up with a while ago and taught to several other Aurors. “ _Ignem edo!_ ”  
  
The shield that opened in front of him manifested as a pair of snapping jaws, and they snapped together around the fire and swallowed it. Harry grinned at the look on the Veela’s face, and then danced backwards among the runes, luring her away from the corner where he could see Ron huddled with the other people he’d come on this case with.  
  
 _Stupid letting him out on a case with any other Aurors._ Harry was the one who knew how to save and protect Ron’s arse. No one else.  
  
The Veela landed in the middle of one of the stars—and Harry maintained that later, no matter what Healer Klhoun had said about prejudice towards five-pointed stars—and spread her wings. The star was big enough that her wingspan didn’t cross it.  
  
But it  _did_ start glowing, and that was enough to make Harry cautious.  
  
As it turned out, he chose to dive precisely the wrong way. Probably because of the sugar, the Healers insisted.  
  
*  
  
But regardless of why it happened, his third mistake was definitely the dive.  
  
“She would have left you alone if you had stayed still,” Healer Kilhoun lectured him, with her finger pointed at the ceiling. Harry imitated her when she couldn’t see him, but it took half the fun out of things because she never looked around or even came close to catching him doing it. “Veela are  _birds._ They’re much better at seeing objects in motion, and in transformed shape, they often use only one eye to do so. Like a bird. If you‘d held still, she would have found you less interesting, and it would have given one of the other Aurors a chance to come up behind her and stop her.”  
  
“But that’s not the way it happened,” Harry said, and glanced pointedly at the huge wings drooping from his back.  
  
Healer Kilhoun wasn’t going to be stopped by something like facts. “It’s the way it  _should_ have happened.”  
  
“But it’s not the way it did.”  
  
“But it’s the way it should,” said Healer Kilhoun, and Harry gave up on rationality with a sigh.  
  
*  
  
The dive had carried him into the center of another star crossed with a blue rune—Harry was sure that the runes were active and dangerous, but he hadn’t had many places to go, and he would only be there for a second—at the same moment as the Veela’s wings had spasmed and drooped and she had cast the light from the star she was standing in at him.  
  
Harry felt something cross through him, something that seemed rooted in the star beneath him and the air above. It was like being caught between two metal poles, both of them glowing with reflected electricity. Harry screamed, and felt as though the pain grabbing him recoiled suddenly at the sound.  
  
The pain came back a second later, though, and crawled up the middle of his back. Harry screamed again and rolled. He was almost at the edge of the star, and he saw Ron standing there, his face pale with shock, holding out his hand. Harry lunged for him.  
  
He didn’t make it. Later, he thought it might be a good thing he hadn’t. At least Ron wasn’t dragged into this whole mess with him.  
  
The spasms shooting through Harry grounded themselves in the star, finally, so the feeling of the pain coming from above passed, and then Harry felt as though someone had blown up a hood surrounding his face. He thrashed and lifted his hand towards his eyes.  
  
“That was the magic changing your lungs, giving you the ability to breathe in flight,” Healer Sedon had said.  
  
Harry didn’t give a fuck at the time, and barely later. His heels were scraping the ground over and over as he screamed, also over and over.   
  
“Mate.  _Mate!”  
  
_ That was Ron, and the first thing that made Harry listen to something other than his own voice screaming in panic. The impulse to take care of Ron, protect his best friend and not make him afraid, made Harry control his voice. He got onto his knees and tried to ignore the feeling of random nerve pains shooting down the middle of his back.  
  
“Ron?” he whispered.  
  
“Yeah, mate. I’m here.”  
  
The stars and the circles and the glowing runes had all vanished. As Ron pulled Harry to his feet, and Harry managed to limp a little on his own instead of just hanging onto Ron for support all the time, he saw a woman in the custody of the other Aurors. She had long silver hair and cold eyes, but she still looked a lot like Fleur Delacour.  
  
Her eyes were so cold that Harry found it hard to meet them. He did anyway, and he asked, “What did you do to me?”  
  
The woman laughed at him, a horrible yawping sound like a dog more than a bird. Healer Kilhoun had tried to explain why that was, later. Harry hadn’t cared enough to listen.  
  
“We think she probably won’t explain,” said Ron grimly. “I don’t know, she might not be able to. She’s mental. We interrupted her ritual and she transformed and started flying and flinging fire at us, and half the men succumbed to the allure. I never would have got close to the fireplace to use it if I hadn’t had those lessons from you in resisting the Imperius Curse.”  
  
Harry sighed and glanced away from her. “I reckon that the truth will come out in the interrogation, anyway. What— _ow!_ ”  
  
The crawling feeling had come out again in the middle of his back. Ron said something and reached for him.  
  
Harry didn’t hear him. This time, it wasn’t with pain but something that felt like the shedding of dry skin that his back tore open. When Harry could turn around again, the wings were floating to the ground around him, and moved when he did, brushing against each other and hissing in whispers like leaves.  
  
“Um,” Ron volunteered a second later.  
  
Harry sighed. “Straight to the Healers, yeah?”  
  
*  
  
Apparently, the fourth thing that had gone wrong and turned him into a Veela had to do with his unique magic. Healers Kilhoun and Sedon had got into an argument about that, Sedon’s normally smooth voice turning into almost Veela-like screeches. At least it wasn’t Harry they were arguing at, so he could lie there and observe.  
  
But eventually, they had calmed down and explained it to him. The fact that he’d once been a Horcrux, and dying and surviving, and the blood quill scars that still lingered on his right hand from his detentions with Umbridge, and maybe even something else—Sedon held out for the “something else” while Kilhoun berated him—had transformed him into a Veela himself.  
  
“And the sugar in the cornflakes had something to do with it, too,” a third Healer, Veraz, had slipped in.  
  
Harry had asked the important questions. “Will I turn into a bird? Will I start affecting people with allure? How far will this go?”  
  
No, he got to the first question; otherwise, he would have already transformed the way female Veela apparently did. Men who were touched by Veela magic only grew wings, and didn’t transform into birds. The other questions, though, they didn’t know the answers to.  
  
“You’ll have to go to the people who can answer those,” said Sedon in a heavy voice that ended up stopping the argument. “The people who can actually teach you how to restrain and use those powers.”  
  
*  
  
 _But they didn’t tell me then,_ Harry thought, as he closed his eyes and felt his wings shift another centimeter towards the floor,  _that it was going to be bloody Veela finishing school._


	2. The School

“I think your wings are fully grown in,” said Healer Kilhoun, standing behind Harry as he faced a mirror and nodding her approval.  
  
Harry hoped she was right. The wings were _huge_ , rising into an arch above his shoulder blades that Harry supposed some people could have called graceful but which were mostly exhausting, to him. He had to keep them a little raised, or the bottom feathers would drag on the floor.  
  
The feathers were all silver, and shone with a faint light that Harry supposed some people would also call moonshine, or starglow, or something. Some people had nothing better to do than come up with stupid names for other people’s problems.  
  
“I think they have another few centimeters to extend,” said Healer Sedon, popping up on the other side of the mirror. It wasn’t attached to a wall, but floated free in the air, hung by magic, because the Healers had opinions about reflections and how they would affect a patient’s recovery. Harry had no opinion, mostly because he thought all of the ones he’d heard were as stupid as whether the wings were beautiful. “We should wait to send him. The Veela won’t be able to teach him anything until his wings are _fully_ grown in.”  
  
“If you think for _one minute_ that I’ll listen to the opinion of anyone taught by that relentless fool Borzoi—”  
  
They drifted off into another bickering session. Harry sighed and turned to consult Healer Veraz. Other than his insistence on the idea that sugar had played some part in the botched Veela ritual, Healer Veraz seemed to be the sanest one there.  
  
“Why are there these little streaks of blue in my wings?” Harry pointed to the faint lines of color he could see tracing across his feathers, arching up to follow the upper curve of the wings.  
  
“Hmm?” Veraz leaned close enough to see them, then shrugged. “Interesting. I don’t know exactly. Veela use those colors to define some sort of hierarchy among themselves, but they don’t like to talk about it. The only Veela I’ve ever interviewed are the transformed ones, like you, and I haven’t seen someone with cobalt veins before.”  
  
“ _Cerulean_ ,” said Kilhoun abruptly, breaking off her argument with Sedon to turn around and frown incredulously at Veraz. “They may look darker to you because of the contrast with the pale feathers, but those stripes are clearly cerulean.”  
  
“ _Cobalt!_ ” Veraz flared up, suddenly looking as crazy as the rest of them.  
  
“ _Cerulean!_ ”  
  
And off they went, while Harry was shifting the wings around and trying to make them a comfortable load to balance on his shoulders. Healer Sedon came up beside him and patted his collarbone; Harry had discovered the wings were so sensitive he could hardly bear for anyone to touch them. Harry looked at him in silent pleading.  
  
“Don’t mind them,” Healer Sedon said firmly. “What’s important is what the Veela will tell you when you get to the school. They’re the ones who have the most information.” He leaned closer to whisper into Harry’s ear. “And you also shouldn’t mind them because those stripes are _clearly_ azure.”  
  
*  
  
Harry had wanted to faint with relief when he discovered Ron was one of the three Aurors who would escort him into the school. It had to be by Side-Along Apparition, because Harry’s wings were too big to go through a Floo connection and apparently the Veela didn’t permit brooms to land or Portkeys to be made to take anyone there.  
  
“What are they afraid of?” Harry complained as he took Ron’s arm in the secluded alley outside the Ministry. “That someone might come and steal away one of their students?”  
  
“Apparently, that’s exactly what it is,” said Ron, and sighed a little when he saw the look Harry was giving him. “Look, most of the students at that school are full Veela, right? Female Veela like the one who cursed you.”  
  
Harry scowled. “She _is_ being charged with that?” Hermione had been keeping him informed of the status of the investigation, and apparently there was some controversy over charging the Veela because she had been exercising her “natural talents.”  
  
“Of course she is,” said Ron fiercely. “ _Anyway_. You saw how people got around Fleur, and she’s only a part-Veela. Until their students are in full control of their powers, apparently the people at this school are really insistent about keeping full humans away from them.”  
  
Harry looked Ron up and down for a second.  
  
Ron winked. “Special duty.” Then he took Harry’s arm in a firm hold, and they whirled around and vanished.  
  
They did several small Apparition hops, and by the time they came out of the last one, Harry’s stomach was rebelling. The other two Aurors were still with them, and Harry wiped his mouth as he considered them. One, a tall woman he didn’t know, had the same silvery sheen to her hair that Fleur did, so he supposed she was in no danger from the allure here. The other had a badge pinned to his chest that Harry squinted at.  
  
SPECIAL VEELA LIAISON, it said in small capital letters.  
  
Harry nodded and turned to face the building in front of him.  
  
The school spread out over what seemed to be kilometers of ground, although Harry had no idea how big it really was; it was also made of white marble that glowed softly in the sunlight, and the glow seemed to create a shimmering aura that probably made it look bigger than reality. It was arranged like a Greek temple, he thought, with lots of white columns surrounding walks open to the wind, and steps up to huge doors, and here and there statues. But Harry didn’t think that many Greek temples had _winged_ statues.  
  
As Harry squinted through the white haze, the large doors at the top of the major set of stairs folded back instead of swinging back. Two people came down the steps and crossed the almost unreal green grass towards them.  
  
“Look at her.” Ron’s voice was reverent, and his hold on Harry’s arm had increased.  
  
“Do control yourself, Auror Weasley,” said the silver-haired woman in a bored tone. She glanced at Harry and suddenly smiled, so bright and sympathetic that Harry found himself smiling back before he thought about it. “Auror Wendy Noriend. It gets _boring_ when people are constantly fluttering over you, doesn’t it?”  
  
Harry could only nod. He hadn’t had anyone do that because of the allure yet—as far as he knew, he didn’t have it or it hadn’t developed yet—but plenty of people had acted like that on just seeing his face.  
  
“This is Special Veela Liaison Hugh Kerrison,” said Noriend, with an inclination of her head at the other Auror. “We thought we’d come along to ease you into the school. The Veela here tend not to explain as much as they need to for new students.” She gave a quick glance at Ron.  
  
 _And make sure certain people behave themselves,_ Harry thought, as he looked back at the people coming towards them. One of them was indeed a Veela woman, although in human form, with such delicately pretty features that Harry wasn’t surprised Ron was staring dreamily at her.  
  
The other had to be a man, because he had wings like Harry. But he had pale hair, so maybe he had inherited the Veela tendency or something. He didn’t wear a shirt at all, while Harry had cut holes in his Auror robes so that his wings could stick through. Harry still wanted to be an Auror more than he wanted to be a Veela, damn it.  
  
The woman moved in front of the man as they came closer, and looked around at everyone as if evaluating their fitness to tread on the sacred grounds of the school or something. Then she nodded. “My name is Miranda Grunnell,” she said, with an accent to her voice that Harry didn’t think was French. “And this is my associate, the only transformed man currently in the school, Draco Malfoy.”  
  
Harry stared. Malfoy had moved up beside Grunnell and was staring back at Harry. He had wings, yes, and hair that seemed to have got paler—whiter—since Harry had seen him last, but his face was still the same. Harry didn’t know how he could ever have mistaken him for anything but _Malfoy_.  
  
“No,” Harry announced.  
  
Grunnell, who had started speaking again, stopped and turned to look at him. She had a faint bar of color on her own wings as they appeared then, Harry saw, almost pure silver. She extended them with a rustling sound, and the shadow of a beak appeared on her face. “Excuse me,” she said.  
  
Harry had probably done something that pissed her off if she looked on the brink of transforming. He had probably violated some ancient Veela code of conduct that had existed since the beginning of time. He was probably in danger of having fireballs thrown at him.  
  
He didn’t bloody care.  
  
“I _refuse_ to be in the same room as a Death Eater,” Harry said calmly. “Especially one who taunted me and my friends for years, spread rumors about me to the press, tried to torture me, and tried to get me expelled and killed. No.” He turned back to Ron. “I know the Healers said something about getting my wings cut off and taking potions to suppress the Veela side of me. They didn’t take it seriously, but I’m about to. Take me home, please.”  
  
Ron, staring dreamily at Grunnell, didn’t hear him. Grunnell rustled her wings and said in a voice that had a rasping, screechy quality to it, “What are you talking about? Monsieur Malfoy is not a Death Eater.”  
  
Harry spun around. Malfoy wasn’t wearing a shirt. It ought to be easy enough to see. “Look—”  
  
He stopped. Malfoy’s pale arm was empty of a Dark Mark.  
  
For the first time, Harry met Malfoy’s eyes. He was giving Harry a smile that had nothing to do with friendliness. That probably violated the ancient Veela code of conduct, too, Harry thought numbly, but that didn’t make him feel better at the moment.  
  
“The transformation to a Veela changes you a lot,” Malfoy said calmly. “In particular, it removes disfigurations. You’ll find that you’re much handsomer than you were.” He leaned in and looked at the scar on Harry’s forehead, then away. “Well. I suppose not everyone can be as perfect as me.”  
  
“You’re forgetting your lessons, Monsieur Malfoy,” said Grunnell. She looked human again, other than the wings. She frowned at him, and Malfoy actually ducked his head as if abashed, which was one of the strangest things Harry had ever seen. “Veela have more to be proud of, which means we should be—” She paused.  
  
“More humble,” Malfoy muttered.  
  
“And when we are more humble, we attain…?” Grunnell trailed off and waited, flexing her wings a little when Malfoy stood there scowling at the ground. “Monsieur Malfoy.”  
  
“The perfection of our senses and souls that other mortals admire us for.” Malfoy was speaking the words now the way he used to speak answers in a class he wasn’t particularly interested in, like Care of Magical Creatures.  
  
Harry grinned for a second. It was wonderful to see Malfoy not able to get away with _something_ , even if he had got away with being a Death Eater.  
  
Then Malfoy caught his eye, and scowled horribly at Harry, and whispered, “I wouldn’t laugh, Potter. This is the kind of schooling that _you’re_ going to have.”  
  
Harry imagined being trapped in a school where he had to recite that kind of thing, while Veela like Grunnell nodded over him. He imagined being trapped in the school with _Malfoy_.  
  
He turned and snapped his fingers in front of Ron’s eyes, close enough that his best friend started and turned to look at him. “I want to go back to St. Mungo’s and cut my wings off and take those potions,” Harry said. He said it clearly, and he watched Ron, whose eyes didn’t slide back to Grunnell more than once during Harry’s sentence. “Are you listening, Ron? _Right now_.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Monsieur Potter. To have become a Veela is not a step backwards, but a passport to a different level of existence. You are not a monster and you are not a _creature_. You are a person with wings. A winged person.”  
  
Grunnell was trying to get his attention, and had already snatched Ron’s again. Harry turned to Auror Noriend. “I want out of this.”  
  
Auror Noriend sighed. “The potions are experimental, Auror Potter. You would suffer pain all your life from having your wings cut off. And the potions might not suppress your Veela magic, including the allure, if you have it.”  
  
“But you would run away from having to share a room with me,” said Malfoy, apparently to the air. “That’s the great Harry Potter courage. _I_ see.”  
  
“I don’t give a shit about sharing a room with you,” Harry said, and Malfoy blinked and stared at Harry with his mouth open a little, as if no one had ever sworn in front of him before. “I just don’t want to be a bird like you.”  
  
“Monsieur Potter.” Grunnell stepped in front of Harry again and extended her arms. She had already mostly lost the feathers and the other things that made her look like a Veela, and now she was just a pretty human being. Harry hesitated, and she spoke rapidly. “I promise, you will not be made to do anything you don’t want to do.”  
  
“But what about going to class? And reciting platitudes like Malfoy had to? And getting along with him? And learning stupid things about Veela culture?”  
  
“They are not stupid,” said Grunnell weakly.  
  
Harry waited a second, then said, “But everything on that list is something I have to do, right?”  
  
Grunnell hesitated, and Harry shook his head and turned around. “No, thanks. I’ll take my chances with the potions.”  
  
“We can teach you how to hold your wings so they do not hurt your shoulders!”  
  
Harry cocked his head back over the curve of his wing, ignoring the way Malfoy snickered next to him. It wasn’t _Harry’s_ fault that he couldn’t look over his shoulder like a normal person. It was the fault of the Veela who had cursed him, or possibly sugar’s fault. “But if my wings are gone, I won’t have to worry about that.”  
  
“We can teach you to suppress your allure.”  
  
“I don’t even know if I have it yet.”  
  
“We can teach you to live a calm and normal life.”  
  
“I had it until you intervened.”  
  
“Nothing about you was ever normal, Potter,” Malfoy interjected in a bored voice.  
  
Harry turned around, glaring, and Grunnell spoke swiftly. “We can keep you from being arrested by the Ministry.”  
  
“What?” Harry demanded. “Why would I be arrested if I left?”  
  
“Because you’re now registered as an untrained Veela,” said Grunnell. “You would be even if you removed your wings.” She made a face as she stared compellingly at Harry, and Harry supposed she was wondering why anyone would want to do such a thing. “You would still have the magic, and until we give you the statue that signifies you have passed all the courses at the School, you will be unregistered.”  
  
“So you’re going to force me to stay here?”  
  
“Most people find their time here a privilege.” Malfoy stuck his nose in the air.  
  
“You’ve got some bogeys,” Harry told him consideringly.  
  
Malfoy tried to brush at his nose unobtrusively, which was impossible. Grunnell, smiling for the first time, continued, “I promise that we won’t mistreat you, Monsieur Potter. Everyone here is either a student, a fully trained Veela, or someone who has enough Veela blood to resist the allure even if you have it. This is the most comfortable place you could be until you’re trained. _Much_ more comfortable than with the Healers, I promise.”  
  
“No arguments about sugar?”  
  
Grunnell looked completely confused. “What?”  
  
“I suppose not,” said Harry, and sighed. “How long does the training usually take?”  
  
“A dedicated student can complete it in a month.”  
  
“How long has Malfoy been here?” Harry cocked a thumb at Malfoy, who had given up on brushing at his nose and was glaring at Harry.   
  
“Monsieur Malfoy is not a dedicated student.” Grunnell looked completely calm as she said that.  
  
Harry snickered at the outrage on Malfoy’s face, and nodded. “All right. Then I’ll stay here and undergo it.” He turned to Ron, said, “Good-bye, mate,” and then sighed as he noticed the way Ron was still staring at Grunnell. “ _Ron_.”  
  
“Hmm? Did you say something?”  
  
“Yes. Tell Hermione not to worry about me, and that I should be— _Ron_.”  
  
“Hmmm?”  
  
Harry shook his head and looked at Noriend and Kerrison. “Will you make sure that he gets home safely? And that Solicitor Hermione Granger hears my message?”  
  
“We will.” Auror Noriend looked far too amused. She held out a hand, and a second later the Special Veela Liaison echoed her. “Good luck, Auror Potter. I hear it’s not too hard if your powers aren’t strong.”  
  
Harry grimaced. With his luck, they would be. “All right. Thanks again.” And he turned towards the school, with Grunnell immediately trying to tell him about the room he would get escorted to and how many classes he would have in a day.  
  
Harry glanced at Malfoy and shook his head when he saw the git’s glare. He didn’t think any nice rooms would be worth sharing space with Malfoy. He would just have to get through the classes as soon as possible.  
  
An owl came winging down and landed on Harry’s shoulder as he stepped into the cool, dark entrance hall at the front of the school. Harry opened the letter it held, a single sheet of paper.  
  
 _Dear Auror Potter,  
_  
 _I almost forgot. Remind the Directrice to explain to you about the mate you’re likely to have._  
  
 _Healer Kilhoun._  
  
 _And you will be happy to know that the stripe on your wings is definitely_ cerulean.  
  



	3. Classes

“I realize this room is small. But it is private.”  
  
Harry blinked at the room and said nothing. If Grunnell thought this was _small_ , he wasn’t sure that he wanted to see what she’d consider large. The room would have covered half the flat he lived in, would have held his cupboard twenty times over. Even though it was only a bedroom, with one corner against the wall that held a handsome desk and a window, that didn’t matter. They had passed plenty of bathrooms and kitchens.  
  
“It’s fine,” Harry said, and moved a few steps forwards, looking around again. The walls were all brilliant, bright wood, sometimes white and sometimes honey-blond. The floor shone with clean white tiles. Harry did give the tiles a curious glance.  
  
“This is more usual in a room for shapeshifters,” said Grunnell, who hadn’t ceased watching him. “When they shed feathers and dust and the like, tile is easier to clean.”  
  
“Oh.” Harry could see how it would be. He stood on his tiptoes to look through the window, since the desk took up all the space in front of it. It looked down on a neat, smooth green expanse and the edge of a huge red rose garden.  
  
“If we had known beforehand what color your wings were, we would have decorated the room to match.”  
  
Harry turned to her. “But they’re white, just like my wings.”  
  
Grunnell’s shoulder twitched. “I meant the stripe in your wings. Blue, isn’t it?”  
  
 _At least someone can be sane about the color._ Harry nodded. “What does that mean?”  
  
“The stripes? They tell you something about the inner affiliation of the Veela. Blue usually means a steady personality, someone who doesn’t back down easily from conflict.” Grunnell nodded at him in approval. “My own silver means someone who is deeply restrained and doesn’t like talking about her secrets.”  
  
“You don’t mind telling me about Veela…”  
  
“That’s not my secret.” Grunnell sounded a little shocked. “That’s information you need to know to be a good Veela.”  
  
“And if I have no interest in being a good Veela?” Harry muttered it, but this time there could be no mistaking the shocked expression on Grunnell’s face. He sighed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to…”  
  
“Your life has changed, and you have no context for it.” Grunnell seemed to have recovered already. “Yes, I understand. Even though I was raised to it, when I first began changing, I could not find comfort. Hearing about the change was not the same as living through it.” She moved briskly over and tapped her wand on the window. The colors seemed to brighten for a second, and then a round hole opened in the glass. Harry squinted at it, and then stepped back in surprise as a few books tumbled through it.  
  
“Not used to that?” Grunnell gave him a sympathetic smile as she collected the books in her arms and gave them to Harry. “Every part of this school is linked to every other part. It’s easy to summon books from the library or food from the kitchens. We need that, since we have to make do without house-elves here.”  
  
“That sounds _incredibly_ useful,” Harry had to admit. “Could you tell me about the spells, so I could tell my friend Hermione? She fights for the freedom of house-elves. If she knew there was another way of doing things…”  
  
“I’m afraid it won’t work outside any area that isn’t saturated with Veela magic.” Grunnell turned to him a second later. “Of course, if you gain control of your powers and then spend a lot of time in her house or yours, then it would work.”  
  
Harry sighed. “I’ve already decided that I’ll stay here.”  
  
“Because you want to master your powers?”  
  
“Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in the pain and depression you described.” Harry shook his head at the look in Grunnell’s eyes. “It’s not any more complicated than that. Don’t make it into something that it’s not.”  
  
“If you insist.” Grunnell nodded without taking her eyes off him. “Do you want me to show you the classrooms?”  
  
Harry grimaced. “I have to see them?”  
  
“If you want to be able to find your way around the school when you begin attending them tomorrow, then yes.”  
  
Harry finally nodded in resignation and followed her. He didn’t hate the thought of attending Veela classes _that_ much, he thought. Only that he would probably have to share them with students already so advanced they would look at him disdain.  
  
And Malfoy.  
  
 _Think of the git._ Malfoy was lounging against the side of a high, arched doorway that led into what Harry thought was the dining hall, from the sounds of clinking glasses and laughing voices. Malfoy straightened up when he saw Harry, but looked at him without much expression.   
  
“I’ll take him around to the classrooms, Miranda,” said Malfoy.  
  
“No, I rather think he would prefer my escort.” Grunnell continued walking, gesturing towards the arched doorway and ignoring Malfoy’s outraged gape. “That’s where you’ll eat, as you can hear. It’s a noisy place, but I’ve often made my best friends over a shared meal.” She cocked her head at Harry. “That’s one thing you’ll notice when you’re in the dining hall. Everyone is on their best behavior. Sharing meals is an important thing among Veela, and none of us want to listen to allure-dazed people stammering through mouthfuls of food.”  
  
“Why is sharing food so important?” Harry had to keep his head turned so he was mostly looking at the dining hall, and also keep his voice innocent. He would burst out laughing if he did anything else. The look on Malfoy’s _face_ …  
  
“Because it’s something that most often, only mates do. Doing it in a larger environment, such as a dining hall, lessens most of the intimacy of the gesture but preserves a little, fostering friendships between Veela.”  
  
Harry felt as though someone had filled his spine with electricity. “The last letter from my Healer said something about mates, but I didn’t know what she meant. Can you tell me?”  
  
“You want _Miranda_ to show you around and you don’t know about mates?”  
  
Harry ignored Malfoy, keeping his gaze fixed on Grunnell. She hesitated, sighed, and then said, “I will, because I don’t think you should go into Professor Testig’s class in utter ignorance. But since she teaches Veela Mate Culture, I don’t want to step too much on her toes, either.”  
  
“The only Veela I knew before this was only part-Veela, and she married the brother of a friend of mine. Does that mean she was mated to him?”  
  
“Your ignorance pollutes my nostrils, Potter.”  
  
Grunnell seemed to have adopted Harry’s course of ignoring the interjections Malfoy tried to make completely. She shook her head. “She would only have been mated to him if she felt a great pull to him. Or if his color matched hers.”  
  
“She didn’t have wings. Neither did he. I have no idea what you mean.”  
  
“There are spells that can cast the color of your wings—well, what _would_ be the color of the stripe on your wings if you had them—on a parchment or wall. I’m sure your friend would have done that the instant she found herself attracted to this man. If they weren’t compatible, she would never have pressed forwards.”  
  
“Sad, that a professor at a school for Veela would think that _compatibility_ was enough to mate.”  
  
Grunnell’s back tightened, but she still ignored Malfoy, to Harry’s delight. She paused in front of a large room down the corridor from the dining hall. “This is Professor Helios’s classroom. You’ll come here to learn to manage your wings and fly. The class is called Wing Management.”  
  
 _Simple enough,_ Harry supposed. He had been a little afraid that all the terminology in the school would be French, which probably wouldn’t respond to a Translation Charm if it was only isolated French words in English sentences.  
  
He looked around the Wing Management classroom. It was made of white wood, rather like his bedroom, but with muffling pale tapestries on the walls and cushioned mats on the floor. Harry thought about crashing into a wall at high speed, and his feathers ruffled before he could keep them still.  
  
“I know, but there hasn’t been a fatal accident here in years.”  
  
“What happens if a Veela breaks a wing?”  
  
“I did,” said Malfoy, abruptly pushing his way in between them, as if he couldn’t stand the thought of being ignored any longer. “And you couldn’t tell from the way I move and hold my wings. See?”  
  
He raised his wings. Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’re perfect, Malfoy.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Malfoy looked oddly crestfallen. Harry turned away from him again and towards Grunnell, who was hiding her amusement badly. “What about the other classes? Which one is your room?”  
  
Grunnell led him off at a brisk pace. Harry thought they’d suddenly run out of time on the tour, but Grunnell apparently only wanted to leave Malfoy behind. The instant they did, she murmured to him, “Did you notice the stripe on Monsieur Malfoy’s wings?”  
  
“No,” Harry said blankly. He had noticed only their general shape, and while it was true that he couldn’t see any sign of a break, he also didn’t intend to minister to Malfoy’s vanity by telling him that.  
  
“It is black.”  
  
“Does that mean he’s still a Death Eater?”  
  
Grunnell frowned at him over her shoulder. “You must give up that insistence on his old allegiance. I understand the temptation, but with the transformation into Veela comes a new set of allegiances and responsibilities. By bringing them up continually, you are the one who will come off as rude.”  
  
Harry shook his head. He wanted to say that he didn’t plan to spend enough time around other Veela to care if he had a reputation for being rude, but he also thought Grunnell probably wouldn’t want to hear that. “What does the black bar mean, then?”  
  
“Great passion. Sometimes it manifests as concern for others, sometimes as self-centered care for the actions of that person only.”  
  
“No guesses as to where Malfoy falls.”  
  
“I think there must be a guess.” Grunnell sounded a little exasperated with him. She turned, walking backwards, and pinned him with a fierce, evaluating gaze. “I asked you for a reason if you noticed the color on his wings.”  
  
Harry scowled. “Then remember I’m new at this and _tell me_ what that reason was. I don’t have any idea about this!”  
  
“Nor will you, if you use these opportunities to peck away at me and others instead of learning to your advantage what I could teach you.”  
  
Harry bit the inside of his cheek again, then said slowly, “I’m sorry. But I don’t know what the colors on the wings mean, and I don’t know why I should expect to notice Malfoy’s color in particular.”  
  
“There are now faint bars of blue around his stripes.”  
  
Harry blinked. “What, is he reacting to the presence of a rival or something?”  
  
“No,” said Grunnell, and at least this time she went on talking instead of waiting for him to guess. “He is reacting to the presence of a potential mate.”  
  
*  
  
“There was no need to _scream_ at me like that, Monsieur Potter.”  
  
Harry lowered his head and stared sullenly at the mug of hot tea in his hands. Grunnell had insisted he drink it. That made Harry think it probably had a sedative in it. “I’m sorry, but it’s hard to be told that your potential mate is someone you despise,” he muttered. Then he drank half the tea at a gulp.  
  
Grunnell winced, maybe at his lack of manners. “It is an honor for a transformed man to find his mate in another Veela,” she said stiffly. “Most of the time, your kind simply have no mates. They have to marry like humans, on the chance of love rather than the certainty of it.”  
  
“I’m still going to do that,” Harry reassured her, with a smile that she drew back from as if she found it offensive. “I don’t care about mating with another Veela. Not a transformed one, not a born one, not female or male. I’m learning how to control my powers and I’m getting _out_ of here.”  
  
“I certainly hope that you learn how to control your powers.”  
  
Harry turned around. Another female Veela was standing at the entrance to the dining hall, where Grunnell had brought Harry after his little incident earlier. She had the same poise as Grunnell, but a much blanker face and less friendly appearance. Her silver hair was twined up in a severe crown of braids that made her neck look pulled and pale, and her blue eyes cut into Harry with a familiar disapproval. It was the exact same kind of look Aunt Petunia used to give him when she thought he had done something freakish.  
  
“I could feel the pull of your undisciplined magic all the way down the corridor,” the woman continued, stepping into the dining hall and taking her place on the opposite bench from Harry. “ _Comfort me, protect me, love me,_ it said. You never once thought of asking if any of the potential recipients of that magic wanted to do any of those.”  
  
Harry stared back at her. “Who are you?”  
  
“Professor Philomela Testig,” said the Veela woman, and gave him another look that made her seem as though she was about to attack him. Harry leaned away from her. “I teach Veela Mate Culture, as Professor Grunnell should already have warned you.”  
  
“She said something about it,” Harry said. _And yeah, it was a warning, although I didn’t realize that at the time._  
  
“Then you should know something about your magic,” said Testig, so slowly and carefully that Harry had the impression of disdain even though she had no emotion in her voice at all. “You should know that you _must_ get it under control. It will try to find a mate for you, but you cannot let it out like that. It is an intrusion into others’ privacy.”  
  
“How can I help that until it _is_ under control?” Harry exclaimed.  
  
“Somehow, other untrained Veela here manage it. Then again, I suppose that you think yourself too good to need to learn from subhumans how to control your magic.”  
  
“I’ve never thought Veela were subhuman.” Harry turned and looked at Grunnell. “The Healers who were treating me were mad for no reason. Is everyone here going to look down on me for no reason?”  
  
“I did warn you that you would get a reputation for rudeness,” said Grunnell, and shook her head a little and sipped at her own tea.  
  
Harry turned back to Testig, and tried to control his own temper enough to smile at her. She looked so unimpressed with it that Harry decided he might as well drop the smile and speak honestly. “I don’t know anything about this. I only got changed two days ago, and this is my first day at the school.”  
  
“Your compatriot did not cause so much trouble in the first day he was here.”  
  
“Compatriot?”  
  
“That would be me, Potter.”  
  
Harry turned around. Malfoy was leaning against the table. When he saw Harry was looking at him, he lifted his wings, which he had acquired again, and turned them around.  
  
Harry saw the glittering black bar surrounded by blue, and he grimaced and shoved himself back from the table. “Excuse me,” he muttered. “I think I need to go be sick.”  
  
“You need to think about controlling yourself,” said Testig.  
  
“Having a potentially compatible mate does not mean that you _must_ mate with him,” said Grunnell.  
  
“I think you ought to be honored, Potter. And listen to me,” said Malfoy.  
  
Once Harry sorted out who’d said what, he shook his head. “I promise that I’ll try to be less rude,” he said, because it was the only thing he could bring himself to say right now. “But I don’t want to mate. I’m only here to attend classes and then I’ll leave. Excuse me,” he repeated, and stumbled out of the dining hall.  
  
He made his way into a bathroom and muttered at himself while splashing water on his face. Then he stopped and looked into the mirror and watched the wings dangling behind his shoulders, down to touch the floor. He shook his head.  
  
“Useless. I ought to have stayed with the Healers after all.”  
  
Then Harry had to stand there and try to decide whether he would rather have listened to endless arguments about the bars of color in his wings or to the comments of superior Veela. He grimaced.  
  
 _I don’t think Kilhoun and the others will ever_ stop _arguing. Whereas Grunnell isn’t bad, and Malfoy’s never going to change but it’ll only be a month, and I won’t be in class with Testig all the time._  
  
Harry finally stepped out of the bathroom, decision made. He was going to ask Grunnell if she could show him a few more of the classrooms, but the only one standing there was Malfoy. Harry rolled his eyes.  
  
“You ought to be honored that I want to escort you,” said Malfoy, and turned away. “You ought to be honored to have me as your escort in any sense of the word,” he added, in a voice that Harry didn’t think was meant to be _really_ under his breath.   
  
“It would be different if I was paying you. Then I could expect a certain standard of behavior.”  
  
Malfoy snapped his head back and sneered at Harry, then turned firmly forwards. “If you look at this wall,” he began loudly, “you’ll see…”  
  
Harry resigned himself to using Malfoy as a guide, and to watching the feathers ruffle all up and down the curve of Malfoy’s wings. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he thought calm behavior might be his best bet, and not just because it would please Grunnell and Testig.  
  
 _Malfoy thinks this is some kind of honor, and he’ll only insist the more on it the more I flinch. But if I pretend to be enthusiastic, he’ll get bored with me easily. Malfoy thrives on being my rival. He doesn’t know how to be anything else._  
  
“Your smile is sometimes disturbing.”  
  
Harry snapped back to himself and smiled some more. No problem like the present for putting a plan in motion. “Only when I’m listening to something I really _want_ to listen to,” he purred.  
  
Malfoy stared at him, then turned away with a shake of his head and continued walking up the corridor. Harry watched his wings to gauge his feelings, and saw them ruffling and settling continually, as though someone was holding an invisible comb above them.  
  
 _At the very least,_ Harry thought cheerfully, _it’ll confuse the hell out of him._   
  



	4. Accommodations

“I have the room immediately next to yours, Potter.”  
  
Harry nodded slowly. Then he beamed at Malfoy and asked, “Do you want to get some dinner? I haven’t had anything except the tea since I arrived here, and I didn’t want to drink too much of that because I thought Grunnell had put a sedative in it.”  
  
Malfoy _stopped_ all at once, his limbs jerking to a halt and his eyes widening. Even his wings, which he carried with the careless grace of balanced mops on his shoulders, seemed to have stopped fluttering.  
  
Harry blinked. He wanted to frustrate Malfoy, but that didn’t include making him die of asphyxiation. Someone, probably Professor Testig, would find a way to blame him if he did that.  
  
“You want to share food with me?” Malfoy’s voice was a soft rumble that was probably dangerous if you were a seed or a nut or something. He turned towards Harry and arched his wings higher, so once again Harry saw the flashes of blue around the black bars on them.  
  
“What did you—” Harry began, and then remembered what Grunnell had said about mates sharing food. Or at least people who were _intimate_ doing that. His throat clogged up, and he thought he might run screaming back into his room. This wasn’t something he’d planned on backfiring so badly when he decided to be nice to Malfoy.  
  
But instead of running and screaming, he summoned up as brave a smile as he could and murmured, “I don’t see anyone else around here to eat with, do you?”  
  
Malfoy blinked, and blinked again, while his wings swayed back and forth like blankets in a windstorm. Harry hoped he had managed to convey the correct kind of innocence. Malfoy had to wonder now if Harry understood all the implications of his offer. He might _think_ Harry did, but right now, there was no way to prove that.  
  
A second later, Malfoy seemed to have decided not only to believe it, but to strike back with weapons of his own. He gave Harry a smile that was broader and brighter than anything he’d shown him before and reached out, delicately taking hold of his elbow. “Yes, you should eat with me. Since there’s _no one else_ to eat with.”  
  
 _Oh, shit, this is probably Malfoy’s version of possessiveness or not wanting me to mate with anyone else or something._ But Harry didn’t run and didn’t flinch. He said, “Okay!” in a bright voice, and then carried on as though he hadn’t noticed the way Malfoy’s fingernails were digging into his elbow. “So, what classes do you like best? Which are the hardest? Do you think you’ll be out of here soon?”  
  
Malfoy hesitated as though he didn’t know what to do in the face of all that bubbly cheer, which was exactly what Harry had planned on. But then he shook his head a little and murmured, “I like almost all of them equally. I wanted to leave as fast as I could before you came. But now that I’ve met _you_ …”   
  
And he gave Harry that bright, deep smile again. Harry gave him a bland one back and said, moving his arm in a casual shrug that took Malfoy’s hand off his elbow, “But we met years ago. Don’t you remember?” He adopted an anxious expression and added, “Is becoming a Veela going to do anything to my memory? I’d hate to forget what I’ve learned in Auror training and Hogwarts and all the rest of it.”  
  
Baffled for the moment, Malfoy trailed a little behind him as they went back to the dining hall. Harry noticed only a few Veela in the corridors on the way, and Malfoy hunched up his wings and almost hissed at them every time they glanced curiously at Harry. Harry shook his head when he saw the unsubtle eyerolls and how the women glanced away again.  
  
 _No one’s interested in competing for me as a potential mate. How like Malfoy not to see that and to assume his interests are threatened anyway. He never noticed that Ron didn’t get to be my friend by appealing to my sense of snobbishness, either._  
  
*  
  
“The meals are mostly vegetarian,” Malfoy announced, as he handed Harry a plate covered in salad, with a small arrangement of cheese and bread off to the side. “They’re afraid meat could arouse a Veela’s predatory instincts.”  
  
“I wasn’t aware that Veela had that many, or that it would be a problem,” Harry said, and sat down at a table. He gave an absent smile to a woman at the next one, or a girl, really. She looked no more than sixteen, and the stripe in her wings was blue, the same as his.  
  
The girl started to smile back, and then Malfoy hissed and clapped his wings together. She immediately pretended the book she had picked up was the most interesting thing in the universe. Harry sighed. His only regret about his little pretense was that it could make Malfoy rude to other people.  
  
“We can have a lot,” said Malfoy, and focused on him again. “Veela can resemble eagles and hawks and other predatory birds. Not owls, generally. Some of the theory I’ve learned says that’s one reason that wizards decided to tame owls instead of some other kind of bird to carry their post.” He paused. “You’re not eating.”  
  
“Oh.” Harry hadn’t consciously realized that. He shook his head and picked up a forkful of peas. “I was listening.”  
  
Malfoy’s wings fluffed out at once. “Really?”  
  
“Yes.” Harry blinked at him. “I’ve never heard that Veela had predatory instincts or resembled different birds of prey. I meant that. But I’ll eat now, if it means so much to you,” he added hastily, since Malfoy was reaching out towards his plate and might have more on his mind than just readjusting it. Harry hastily swallowed and then reached out and picked up a piece of bread, too.  
  
“Your manners are atrocious, Potter,” Malfoy murmured, but he was smiling.  
  
*  
  
Harry leaned back from the fire and sighed. “So that’s the main thing I’ve learned,” he told Hermione, and yawned. He was more exhausted than he’d thought he’d be from his first day of walking around with the wings dangling off his back. “That people here take small things way too seriously, and that Malfoy thinks we could be potential mates.”  
  
“Oh, Harry.” Hermione looked torn between amusement and sorrow. “I think you have to remember that they’re more Veela than human now.”  
  
“That’s the last thing I thought I would ever hear _you_ say,” Harry muttered, and he did feel as though his eyes were bulging out of his head. _Hermione_ acting as though someone who was human-shaped most of the time didn’t matter? She had more compassion for house-elves.  
  
“I didn’t mean—” Hermione shook a rapid hand back and forth. “I didn’t mean you’re not intelligent and deserving of all sorts of protection, Harry. Only that you’re among people with a different culture than humans.”  
  
“Well, it’s not mine.”  
  
“I think you have to try to learn as much of it as you can while you’re there,” Hermione told him, and her voice was calm and steady enough that Harry frowned at her. Sometimes he hated the way that she absolutely didn’t take any nonsense and gave him sensible ideas. More often he was grateful for it, but not right now. “You’re going to be living there for at least the next month. Is it _really_ a good idea to antagonize them for no reason?”  
  
“It wouldn’t be no reason,” Harry muttered.  
  
“Then what it would be?”  
  
“A good reason. Because I want to mess with Malfoy’s head and make him drop the idea of this potential mate business.”  
  
“It’s harder to drop for Veela,” said Hermione, and sighed when Harry glared at her again. “I’m not saying that Veela can’t control their impulses or just go after whoever they want when they see them.”  
  
“ _Thank_ you.”  
  
“But I’m saying that their culture encourages that kind of performance in front of a mate. And it’s not like humans always have such great impulse control, either. Or you wouldn’t have as many people cheating on their spouses and then claiming they couldn’t help themselves.”  
  
Hermione’s voice was a little prim. Harry knew why. One of her undersecretaries had cheated on his wife and then made everyone else in the office complicit in his little drama when he tried to blame it on the stress his work put him under.  
  
“Complicit in his little drama” was Hermione-speak, but Harry had remembered it because she’d told him the story of Cheating Egbert Borias many times by now. “I know that. But I don’t want a mate.”  
  
“Even if your Veela side really wants one?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “So far, the only thing that’s happened to me as a result of turning into a Veela is wings, Malfoy, and a lot of mad Healers arguing about exactly what color the stripes on my wings are. I haven’t had urges that drive me to do something.”  
  
“Well, you might not recognize them yourself yet. That’s one thing the classes are designed to teach you: how to hold yourself back when you’re about to make a decision because of your powers.”  
  
Harry sighed. “So you think I should stay here and take the classes.”  
  
“Of course. Those potions the Healers offered you are still experimental and not fully-tested yet. And I think they only offered them to you because _they’re_ eager to see what might happen to you as a result.” Hermione sniffed. “Utterly irresponsible, to treat you like an experiment instead of a patient.”  
  
“Well, I’m going to stay. I just don’t plan to indulge Malfoy’s little whims and desires.”  
  
“I’ve been reading, and the fact that you don’t want to do that argues that he’s not a good potential mate for you, in spite of you becoming a potential mate for him…”  
  
Harry relaxed and let Hermione’s soothing voice wash around him. He didn’t care that much about the Veela trivia she had looked up, but he appreciated that she cared enough about him to want to do it.  
  
*  
  
Harry woke swiftly. There had been a grinding noise nearby, one that sounded distinctly out of place in a bedroom, even a Veela one.  
  
Harry rolled over and grimaced as his wing brushed against the sheets. That would alert someone trying to break in. Harry still hadn’t worked out a comfortable way to sleep on his back or sides with the wings, so he’d lain on his stomach and learned how to breathe even though the pillow was mostly in the way of his nose.  
  
But the grinding noise went on instead of stopping. Harry wondered if he had the luck to have attracted a thief who didn’t have good hearing. Or maybe much luck at the job. Harry supposed that there might not be a lot to steal in a school this isolated without someone suspecting you right away.  
  
When he rose, there was a deadening rustle from his wings as they dropped down his back. Harry grimaced. But still the grinding noise didn’t stop, and it did come from the door. As Harry watched, the knob began to turn.  
  
Harry glided forwards. A meter or so from the door, he stopped and waited. The knob jiggered again, then froze, and Harry raised his eyebrows. Maybe it _was_ a thief without a lot of experience after all, someone who had heard that the Great Harry Potter was in the school and thought he would have things worth stealing.  
  
He tried to remember if Grunnell had had a key to the door. He thought she did. But this person hadn’t even tried to engage the Locking Charms on the knob yet, which suggested that they were more concerned about the lack of a key.  
  
 _Not a professor. A fellow student._  
  
Harry drifted to the side. His wings hampered his ability to move quickly and quietly, but that didn’t mean much when he still had his Auror training. He slowed his breathing and waited.  
  
The knob shook one more time. Then someone outside gave a little hiss as the lock gave way—  
  
Only for the door to immediately freeze as it got stuck in the Locking Charms. The person outside cursed this time, loud and long.  
  
That was enough for Harry to recognize the voice. He strode over and said, “ _Malfoy_?”   
  
Silence. Harry flung the door open, barely remembering to cancel the Locking Charms in time so the door wouldn’t bounce back and hit him in the face.  
  
Malfoy did stand in the corridor outside, and after the low level of light provided by the fire in the bedroom, the torches flashing off his hair almost dazzled Harry’s eyes. He thought, at first, that was why Malfoy looked strange.   
  
Then he shook his head and stared again.  
  
No. Malfoy still wore something that looked like a large white gown, except for the holes in the back that left space for his wings to sprout. And he still showed bare skin when he shifted in front of Harry’s incredulous gaze. There was _lace_ along the cuffs and hem and collar, like Ron’s hideous dress robes in fourth year. Harry turned back to Malfoy and stared some more, trying to show what he felt with blinking.  
  
Malfoy didn’t say anything, but continued to stand there with his wings a little lifted and some skin showing through the robe. Only when Harry saw that did he decide what in the world Malfoy was doing.  
  
“Are you—trying to _seduce_ me?” he finally asked.  
  
Malfoy stared at him some more, and blinked. Then he flashed his wings up and down, as if he assumed he could hypnotize Harry with the blue bars around the black one that way.  
  
“That would be a yes, then?” Harry knew he probably still sounded dazed, but, well, _honestly_. Malfoy thought he could break into Harry’s room in the middle of the night and pin him to the pillow or something?   
  
_Or something,_ Harry decided, as Malfoy’s wings flared out and came to rest on either side of his neck. It was a threatening posture when someone tried to do something like that with blades or wands, and Harry began to lift his own wand carefully. He would strike back if Malfoy tried to hurt him.  
  
“You don’t understand what I see in you,” Malfoy breathed. “You don’t understand the wonderfulness of a potential mate. Since I came here, they told me I probably wouldn’t find one. True Veela rarely make mates out of transformed ones.”  
  
He paused dramatically. Harry knew he was supposed to ask why that was true, or maybe coo sympathetically about Malfoy’s revelation and ask him why he’d chosen Harry.  
  
But Harry was having a lot of fun doing the unexpected.  
  
“Well, I would understand the wonderfulness more if you didn’t ambush me in the middle of the night,” Harry said frankly, and reached up to push the tip of Malfoy’s wing out of the way. It didn’t sharpen and cut him, and that was a good thing. “I’m used to a full night’s sleep, you know, when I’m not on a case. I was looking forward to sleeping through the night here.” He sighed. “I suppose I should have known that wouldn’t happen. What did you want to tell me?” He tried to put on the same expression of strained patience Ron wore when Hermione was in the middle of a lecture.  
  
Malfoy stood frozen and looked at him. Harry nodded encouragingly, and Malfoy whipped away from him and stood on the far side of the corridor.  
  
“I didn’t want to disturb your rest,” Malfoy whispered. “Only impress you.”  
  
“It’s kind of you,” said Harry, and while he couldn’t muster enthusiasm, he thought his tone was bland and polite. “Can we do it in the morning, though? I’ll be better able to appreciate your talents then.”  
  
Malfoy turned around and gave him a heated look. Harry had been on the receiving end of lots of those, though, with the celebrity thing, and only smiled back. Malfoy finally nodded, his eyes hooded a little.  
  
“Yes. Of course. I hoped—but it doesn’t matter. Of course.” He bowed to Harry and then turned away and walked down the corridor. Harry sighed at his back and opened the door, ignoring the cue to call after Malfoy, also dramatically.  
  
He rearranged himself in his bed. So he didn’t have to worry about violent enemies here—other than maybe Professor Testig if she felt he wasn’t doing well enough in class—but he had to worry about interruptions to his rest.  
  
The Floo flared. Harry rolled over and blinked. For a second, he could see no face in the flames, but then the familiar one of Healer Veraz appeared. “ _Ah_ ,” he said, and nodded at Harry and put a finger to his lips.  
  
Harry just stared.  
  
“I’ve arranged secret Floo access so I could contact you,” Veraz whispered. “It’s very important that you listen to me and not Kilhoun about what color the stripes on your wings are.”  
  
Harry got up, walked across the room, and shut the Floo connection. Then he lay back down on the bed and tried to remember the way to all the classrooms Malfoy had showed him that day.  
  
Anything that would keep him from screaming in frustration and proving to Malfoy that he was still awake would be a help, right now.   
  



	5. The First Day

Harry stood in front of the bathroom mirror and stared at his wings in horrified silence. Then he moved them back and forth and turned to stare at them from another angle, in the desperate hope that things would change if he did that.  
  
Nothing happened, of course. Because this was no subtle color change, the sort of thing that would have made the Healers argue about whether the new color was cerulean or cyan. This was much more obvious and much worse.  
  
This was the appearance of black bars around the blue stripes on his wings. It looked as though someone had dipped dirty fingers in a pot of black paint and run them up and down in bold strokes in every direction. Falling _into_ the pot of black paint with his wings wouldn’t have looked worse.  
  
Harry stared at those gloomy signs of having Malfoy as a potential mate for long enough that he lost track of time. Suddenly someone was hammering on his door and bellowing in the less-than-musical voice of a pissed-off Veela.  
  
“Come on, Potter! You’ll miss breakfast!”  
  
Harry felt his wings flutter as though someone had grabbed them. Hastily, smoothly, he turned away from the mirror and picked up his wand. When in doubt, turn to the magic that had got him through so much so far.   
  
He had to face the mirror again to cast the spell, which was the only problem. He kept wanting to turn his head to the side to avoid the ugly evidence of those black bars instead of looking at them.   
  
Another hammering bellow made him finally do it, and he whispered, concentrating as hard as he could, “ _Commuto album_.”  
  
With a long, slow shimmer, the black bars faded, covered up by the simple charm that made them look as white as the rest of his wings. Harry sighed and put his wand away, then swiftly flung on his robes, ignoring the way they made his wings fold down and constrict. The charm was simple and wouldn't stand up to scrutiny. He would be just as glad if no one had the chance to look at his wings.  
  
Of course, beyond the ache that came with having them bound was the annoyance of opening the door and having Malfoy’s look change immediately from seductive to concerned. “What happened to your wings?”  
  
Harry shrugged a little and set off down the corridor towards the dining hall. But Malfoy came up beside him and stroked his elbow in a gentle way, complete with ringing chirp that seemed to command Harry’s feet. He stopped without meaning to, and faced Malfoy equally without any direct command from his brain.  
  
Malfoy moved his face forwards, eyes enormous. Harry didn’t dodge, and that meant he had to endure the humiliation of Malfoy gently rubbing his cheek against Harry’s.  
  
Well, later it was humiliating. At the time, Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek back and uttered a little chirp in response.  
  
“Not terrible, then.” Harry hastily opened his eyes to see Malfoy smiling. He didn’t look as though he was about to move back, either, instead watching Harry happily from his close perch. “But what happened?”  
  
“They--drag on my back muscles and hurt my shoulder blades,” said Harry, which was true. “I thought binding them would at least make a different part of my back carry the weight.” He blinked, shook his head, and stepped away from Malfoy as naturally as he could. What the _hell_ had the chirping been about? His, not Malfoy’s. Malfoy actually wanted to be a Veela git.  
  
“They’ll teach you how to manage them soon enough.” Malfoy looked utterly content, his lips and his face all soft. He nodded and moved ahead of Harry to lead the way to the dining hall. “I had to spend a week here before I could even stop them from touching the floor all the time.”  
  
He paused a second later and tilted his head back at Harry. “But I wish you would have left them free. Your wings are beautiful.”  
  
Harry gaped at Malfoy’s back. Malfoy just kept going, as if he hadn’t said anything particularly unusual, and his steps softly jounced his wings and made them flare out so Harry could see the blue bars around the central black one.  
  
The first thing Harry thought of was that they looked a lot nicer than the corresponding marks on his own wings.  
  
The second thing was, _What the hell is happening to me?_  
  
*  
  
“My name is Professor Philomena Testig, and I teach Veela Mate Culture. I expect you to _try_ to grasp the significance and beauty of mating. It doesn’t mean you will until such time as you are matching wingbeats with someone who, for incomprehensible reasons best known to nature, has chosen your small personality to match theirs. But I expect trying before then.”  
  
Harry blinked and looked around the classroom. It was a strange, severe, beautiful room, with walls that shimmered in different _shades_ of white: hypnotic cream, rippling ivory, coruscating seashell. Harry thought the walls were round, but they blended so seamlessly into each other that it was difficult to be sure. They sat on cushions arranged in a circle, with each cushion a different color until they reached a sixth cushion, at which point another color began.  
  
Black, silver, blue, green, red, Harry counted. He was sitting on a blue cushion by chance. Malfoy had settled beside him on a silver one. That at least reassured Harry that Veela culture didn’t go so far as to think you should only sit on a piece of furniture the color of the bars in your wings.  
  
 _Although Malfoy could have sat on a blue one just as well. And you on a black one._  
  
Harry hoped no one noticed his twitch. Testig’s eyes did land on him, however, although she didn’t say anything about the twitch. Instead, she murmured in a tone that was pleasant like the walls were white, “Mr. Potter, why do you have your wings bound?”  
  
It was strangely more difficult to lie to her than it had been to Malfoy, despite Harry actually liking Malfoy more. Maybe that was because her huge, softly blue eyes made the spit dry up in Harry’s throat, like some of the Auror instructors they’d had during training. But Harry made himself say, “The weight dragged at my shoulders and made them hurt.”  
  
“You should take them out. So that we can rejoice in being Veela, instead of making ourselves look like caged birds.”  
  
“I don’t see why me having _my_ wings wrapped up has to keep _you_ from rejoicing in being Veela,” Harry said before he thought about it. Then he remembered and added hastily, “Professor Testig.”  
  
From the way the rest of the class had sucked in its breath, it was already too late. Testig moved slowly towards him, her head cocked to one side and her steps as slow and deliberate as those of a heron stalking frogs.  
  
Before Harry had even decided what his response should be, Malfoy reared up beside him.  
  
Malfoy had his wings flapping and his neck extended so he almost looked like a goose. _Or a swan,_ Harry thought in awe, staring at the whirling reflections Malfoy’s wings bounced off the walls. He swayed his head back and forth and then snapped his wings straight. He was hissing.  
  
Testig stopped and eyed him for a moment. Then she asked, “Has he returned the gift?”  
  
Harry didn’t know what that meant, and it seemed to take a while to get through to Malfoy, too. But the instant it did, he stopped hissing and sat down. His face was paler than usual, not Veela-pale but sickly. Harry found himself reaching out with one hand.  
  
Testig stopped him with a simple snap of her head to the side. She said, “You can’t touch him if you haven’t returned the gift.”  
  
“What if he’s trying?” Malfoy asked, looking at Harry. His face was still pale, but his eyes blazed. He flicked out his own hand before Harry could ask what was happening.   
  
The tips of his fingers touched Harry’s.  
  
The blaze seemed to reach out from Malfoy’s eyes and surround Harry, curl around him and swallow him up. He couldn’t see the room anymore, or the cushions. There were only swirling dots of color and an enormous, ringing whiteness. Harry swayed on gentle rocking waves and slowly let his head fall back. He had never felt this way.  
  
Mind you, he wasn’t entirely sure it was a good way to feel. But still, he wanted to experience it until he could make up his mind.  
  
The whiteness cleared away as slowly as his body seemed to move. He rolled to the side and found his elbows on cushions. His head was resting in somebody’s lap. With a sense of inevitability, Harry let his eyes trail up.  
  
Yes, it was Malfoy’s lap he lay in. And Malfoy spread his wings and hissed again, more confidently this time, when one of the Veela women tried to lean around him and catch Harry’s eye.  
  
“I know a claimed mate is always more attractive than one that has yet to prove his potential,” Malfoy said, in the sort of snotty voice Harry had always heard from him in Hogwarts. “But you need to leave this one alone. He’s _mine_.”  
  
Harry struggled to breathe for a second. That voice set up such a confusing clash of feelings in him. On the one hand, he felt harmonics of melody curling in his head, and they were all singing, _Yes, yes, yes._  
  
On the other hand, he remembered Malfoy’s face the day he had called Hermione a Mudblood, and the mere _thought_ of belonging forever to someone like that sent Harry weakly struggling up into a kneeling posture. Malfoy sat there and stared at him when he got to that position. His hands were still positioned as though to stroke invisible hair.  
  
“You reject the claim, Mr. Potter?” Testig’s voice had an echo to it.  
  
“I don’t even know what he means by ‘claimed,’” Harry said. “Professor Grunnell told me that the colors in his wings show that we’re compatible. But that’s not the same thing as—as _being_ mates.” He turned instinctively to her. “You’re the expert. Right? What does claiming mean?”  
  
Professor Testig watched him so long that Harry was unsure he’d get an answer. Then she nodded and said, “A claimed, compatible mate is one who has responded to the touch of someone who bears bars of her-- _his_ \--color on their wings.”  
  
“You’ve been claimed since now,” said Malfoy, and bowed his head to nuzzle his cheek along Harry’s hair. It made a flurry of sparks leap through Harry, and he bit his lip savagely. The sensation wasn’t necessarily _pleasant_ , but it was so consuming that Harry had a hard time thinking of anything else.  
  
Then Malfoy added, “Or even since you touched my cheek this morning,” and the smugness of his voice woke Harry up from what was starting to feel more and more like a trance.  
  
He sat up, glared, and moved away from Malfoy, heaving his body off his lap and hunching his back in when Malfoy tried to touch him there. “I am _not_ yours,” Harry snarled, and suddenly wished his wings were free to bring up and beat Malfoy back with. They twitched wildly under the robe where he’d confined them. “If all it takes is a touch and a few bars of color, then I could have mated with almost anyone who was here since I came!”  
  
“That’s not the way it works, Mr. Potter.” Testig’s voice was even more smug than Malfoy’s. “Not just anyone will respond to you and develop bars of your color on their wings. Not just anyone’s touch would cause you to react to them. The fact that this happened so soon means you could have a very strong mating bond.”  
  
“Could, but won’t.” Harry moved away when Malfoy tried to touch him again, clambering to his feet. He felt oddly breathless and his face was cold, but so what? Those were temporary sensations. Being mated to Malfoy would be for life.  
  
“Why won’t you?” Testig sounded now as though she was talking to a sulky child.  
  
“Because I won’t mate with him,” Harry said.  
  
The next second, he gasped. It felt as though someone had picked up a pail full of sadness and poured it over him. He went cold the way he would be when he was in the middle of a Disillusionment Charm, and his hands trembled, and he turned to Malfoy without even realizing it.  
  
Malfoy stood with his head bowed and his wings wrapped around himself protectively. He was crooning a little, as if trying to soothe a wound.  
  
“You don’t even want to give it a chance.” Testig was back to emotionless. “You don’t want to allow your new instincts to manifest. You want to be a normal human, not a transformed Veela who has a mate.”  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” Harry said, and spun around to glare at her. He felt worse when he did that, weaker and paler, but _so what_? “That’s exactly what I want.”  
  
“How _stupid_ ,” said one of the young Veela women sitting on a blue cushion. She had shining white wings and a bar of gold in them, and pretty pale brown hair and hazel eyes. Harry looked at her in silent despair and wondered why he couldn’t have mated with _her_ instead. “Most of us have been looking for and dreaming of our mates for years, and you have your chance within a few days of becoming Veela and _reject_ it?”  
  
“She’s right,” murmured a Veela with shining gold hair and huge violet eyes. “I would give anything to have my mate immediately.”  
  
There was a chorus of agreement, and Harry’s wings beat inside his robes. “But you grew up with that!” he finally cried out, making people stop and stare at him. “You knew you were going to have mates, and you knew you _wanted_ them. That’s the difference! I never did!”  
  
“But you went through a change.” Testig’s voice had altered again. Harry turned towards her, wondering as he did whether she was a musician or something, who’d had training in making different emotions come through. “It’s natural enough that you should still feel loyalty to your human identity, and that human identity never wanted a mate.” She paused a moment, as if she was going to say something different, then continued on. “But it’s also natural enough for you to have Veela instincts that want one for you.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on nothing but his own breathing, heartbeat, and wings. If he reached back towards Malfoy, even mentally, he found a piercing sadness that made him recoil as if from a needle.  
  
“So you’re saying I have no choice but to be a Veela,” he said.  
  
“Oh, there’s a choice.”  
  
Testig was standing right in front of him now, but she didn’t go on. Harry had the feeling she wouldn’t until he was looking at her. He finally opened his eyes and met hers head-on, ready to defend himself.  
  
Testig looked him in the eye and spoke disarmingly, instead of with the yelling that he could have _done_ something about. “You made the choice when you came to the school. You could have had your wings cut off and taken the potions that would push against the pain and depression for the rest of your life.”  
  
Testig took a step forwards. Her own wings had formed on her back now, and Harry stared at their white shimmer to avoid looking her in the face. “You would have suffered continual pain with that choice. You _think_ the pain you suffer now will be worse. But I can tell you, I’ve seen both the transformed and those with an unexpected Veela inheritance have their wings severed, and they are miserable for the rest of their lives.”  
  
Another step, and now she was almost looming over him. Harry’s wings wanted to burst out. He shook his head hard.  
  
Testig caught his chin and held him still. Her eyes were more luminous than Malfoy’s and seemed to loom overhead like the moon.  
  
“You can still have a full life,” Testig told him outright. “You can have a life that’s not defined by your wings and your instincts. But you have to learn how to _control_ those instincts. Not just huddle down in front of them and howl.”  
  
That went far enough that Harry surged to his feet. “I’m not a coward, and I’ve never huddled down and howled in front of anything in my life,” he told her. His own voice had an unexpected, ringing depth to it. “I had to deal with Dark wizards hunting me for most of the time I was in school _and_ now! I can do this.”  
  
“Then do it,” said Testig quietly.  
  
Harry shuddered a little. “But if my mate is someone I dislike, what am I supposed to do? Just live the life you were talking about with a little extra added misery, because it’s better than cutting off my wings and taking the potions?”  
  
“It would still be better than that,” said Testig. “But your instincts don’t want you to be miserable. If they chose Mr. Malfoy as your mate, there’s a reason.”  
  
She turned Harry around so that he faced Malfoy. Harry made himself do it, even enduring the waves of sadness that pressed around him when he was three-quarters of the way into the turn. He _could_ do this. He _would_. He was stronger than Testig had said, braver than to cower over something his body had done to him.  
  
But he still nearly crumbled when he saw the way Malfoy stood with his wings wrapped around most of his body, shoulders and head bowed, not looking up at Harry even when he took a step forwards and extended his hand.  
  
“Why?” Harry mouthed to Testig.  
  
“He is still experiencing some rejection from you. Try to mean it. Try to really _want_ to be his mate, or to get to know him.”  
  
Harry looked back at Malfoy with a deep breath, and decided to try. Malfoy hadn’t insulted his friends in years; Harry had testified for him after the war; he wasn’t the person Harry would have chosen to spend the rest of his life with, but he was a person, and maybe Harry knowing him was better than finding himself bonded to a stranger after coming here.  
  
 _I’m not even gay, though. How’s that going to work?_  
  
But there must be a reason his instincts had picked Malfoy--  
  
The minute he thought that, a cloud he hadn’t noticed before seemed to withdraw from around Malfoy, and the pulsing waves of sadness stopped. Malfoy’s wings fell to his sides, and he blinked. Then he looked at Harry, and blinked again.   
  
“Yes,” Harry said. “I can--choose you at least temporarily. My instincts chose you. It’s all right.”  
  
Malfoy leaned towards him, wings fluttering, hands still extended. Harry scooped up those hands and pressed them against his heart.  
  
Malfoy crooned, a sound that seemed to make windchimes play in Harry’s head and his hips sway. Then he suddenly realized he was crooning back, and his wings had actually burst out of the cloth he’d tried to confine them in and were projecting into the air, lazily flapping up and down.  
  
“There,” said Testig, with a sigh that Harry thought was the first satisfied sound he’d heard out of her, “you have a better demonstration of why you need to know how to respect your mate than I could ever give you. Class dismissed.” 


	6. Wing Management

“You would think you’d never had anyone fussing over you in your life before.”  
  
Harry simply shrugged when Malfoy spoke. He didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound snide or trite or cruel. And Malfoy had a strange echo of fondness in his voice, as though he didn’t mean to tease, anyway.  
  
 _Or maybe he’s only teasing instead of making fun,_ Harry thought, sitting back a little as an enormous plate of bread and butter got put in front of him. There was some cheese off to the side and a few fresh strawberries, but not more than that. Harry blinked as he tore off a hunk of the bread and swallowed. It was _delicious_ , with crunchy crust and the swimming taste of melted butter in his mouth, but he did wonder why Malfoy hadn’t got him any vegetables.  
  
“These seemed to be what you liked best,” said Malfoy, with a wave of his hand at the bread and the fruit.  
  
 _And it’s strange that he’s reading my mind,_ Harry thought. He raised an eyebrow, though, in case it wasn’t mind-reading, and Malfoy answered him with a smile.  
  
“Your face has always been easy to read. Especially for someone who’s your mate.” He reached out and let his hand slide down the length of Harry’s cheek, so lightly that it was hard for Harry to feel. “It’s going to be so good,” Malfoy added in a breathy voice.  
  
Harry dropped his eyes to the plate and went on eating, while his mind had a battle in it that Malfoy apparently saw nothing of.  
  
On the one hand, all right, he had Veela instincts and they seemed to have picked Malfoy out for him. That was undeniable, after the strange sensations he had experienced in Testig’s class.  
  
On the other hand, Harry still wasn’t as into it as Malfoy. Malfoy was treating it all like a dream. This was more like a nightmare for Harry, or at least a surreal dream. Maybe it could be good, but he didn’t have the same faith it would that Malfoy did.  
  
He sneaked a glance at Malfoy’s plate, but Malfoy caught him at it, and smiled indulgently while his wings gave a little flap. Harry didn’t think it was a coincidence that you could see Malfoy’s black stripes and blue bars better that way.  
  
“I thought I’d feed you for today because you’re still unsteady on your feet and suffering shoulder pains from those wings. But I do expect some care in return. Later.”  
  
Malfoy had an even more sultry tone in those last words than he’d had before, and Harry had to twist his head to the side and swallow. The further they got from Testig’s class, the weirder this started seeming again. Everyone talked about courting and wings beating in time and how lucky someone was to have their mate right away, but weren’t they _also_ talking about sex? Harry thought so, and the thought of having sex with Malfoy made his skin crawl, still.  
  
He could hold hands with Malfoy and lie on his lap and touch his hand, but there were limits even to his instincts.  
  
“Are you listening to me, Harry?”  
  
Harry turned back to Malfoy and shook his head a little. “I’m sorry. This is still a shock, and I—I understand some things, all right? That you’re my mate or a potential one, and that our wings have changed to reflect that, and that you’re jealous of other people who might claim me. But so much else is still hazy.”  
  
Malfoy clapped his wings softly together, moving them _backwards_. Harry stared. He wished he could do that.  
  
Malfoy seemed to misunderstand the reason for the stare as much as he had for the question, and he turned his neck coyly to the side before he reached out and caught hold of one of Harry’s hands, rubbing it warmly. “You don’t need to be afraid,” he whispered. “I’ll do right by you. I’ll explain it to you. Anything you want, today after class.”  
  
“Why not just skive off class?” Harry asked, looking at Malfoy’s smile.  
  
Malfoy chuckled and sat back. “Because it’s Wing Management. And I think you need that more than anyone.”  
  
*  
  
“Yes. You let your wings droop and brush the floor. It’s no wonder that they’ve been giving you pain.”   
  
Harry clenched his jaw and stared at the far wall of the classroom. He would _not_ snap at Professor Helios, he would _not_ snap at Professor Helios…  
  
“You have to leave them and _hold_ them there.” Professor Helios paced slowly around Harry and paused in front of him, raising his eyebrows. He was the only other transformed male Veela that Harry had seen in the school, his wings bearing solid stripes of gold, with small purple bars around them. His mate apparently wasn’t here, though. He had white hair and huge blue eyes, and he had seemed sympathetic.  
  
Now, though, he reached out and grasped Harry’s right wing and _wrenched_ it into a new position. Harry hissed and ducked his head, all the feathers on that wing ruffling in response.  
  
“I shouldn’t have to do that. You can’t let all the weight just _hang_ from your shoulder blades. You have to use the muscles to bear it. See?” And Professor Helios turned to the side and held up his wings so Harry could admire what was apparently a perfect curve. Harry couldn’t see what he meant, though, and shook his head.  
  
“You have new muscles,” Professor Helios said, and faced him with a frown. “They appeared and started growing when you grew the wings. You should be able to use them to brace the weight and not let it tire you.”  
  
“No one told me that.”  
  
“They probably thought the appearance of new muscles wasn’t an easy thing to mistake,” said Professor Helios dryly, and reached out and touched Harry’s chest. “Feel that? You weren’t that muscular before, I think.”  
  
Harry inhaled. The muscle seemed as though it moved naturally under Professor Helios’s touch, and he shrugged. The wings bounced when he did. “I don’t know. The Healers were running around me and arguing with each other, and then I got packed off here. I didn’t have time to just stare into the mirror.”  
  
“Staring into the mirror is what most new Veela _do_. A fair proportion are enchanted by their own reflections.”  
  
Harry couldn’t help his dropped jaw this time. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”  
  
Professor Helios stepped back and studied him again, then said, “Yes, perhaps you would think that. In the meantime, Potter, I want you to lift your wings and balance them using the band of muscle that crosses your chest. _Not_ your shoulder. I’ll help Lily for a moment, and then I want to come back and see you doing it right.”  
  
He turned away to the only other student in the class, the only other Veela new enough to need help with her wings. Lily Gamble was apparently sixteen and far more scared than Harry, and Harry had tried to keep from staring at her since he’d heard her name, which would probably frighten her more. Professor Helios spoke to her more softly.  
  
 _If I’d pretended to be that scared, then would I have got some actual sympathy and instruction instead of being shoved at the goal?_  
  
Harry sighed and walked over to the mirror on the one unpadded wall of the classroom. He had ducked his head when he first came in and looked away, not wanting to see the telltale black bars around the blue. Now he ignored them and tried to focus on the shape of his wings instead.  
  
“Most men find it easier to take their shirts off.”  
  
Harry grimaced. Well, he supposed his shirt already looked awful, given that he had ripped the back of it to shreds when his wings burst out of their confinement earlier and his _Reparo_ only did so much on cloth. He shrugged off the remains and gasped a little as he felt his wings suddenly stretch. He had thought they were at their fullest extent, but apparently not.  
  
And now that he was looking at himself half-naked, he could see perfectly well what Professor Helios had meant. There _was_ a huge band of muscles across the front of his chest. Flight muscles, Harry supposed. They looked taut and as if he had spent a lot of time exercising them, but then, he had only had wings for a few days. Professor Helios had started out the class by telling them both sternly that lack of exercise would make flight muscles sag as much as the rest.  
  
Harry started to lift his wings with his shoulders, then shook his head. Focusing on his muscles in the mirror, he tried to use those muscles to flex and lift his wings. Really lift them, spread them, not just get the tips off the floor.  
  
For an instant, it was like struggling with the remains of his shirt, although this time, Harry couldn’t see the restraining pieces. Then, suddenly, the bonds seemed to fall away, and Harry’s wings lifted and blazed around him. He stared.  
  
They were—  
  
Harry immediately shied away from the word “beautiful,” even in his own mind. He wasn’t going to stand there smiling foolishly at his own wings and deciding they were beautiful. But he did have to admit that they looked nicer than he’d thought, and when he held them as if he was about to fly, they didn’t feel so much like a burden.  
  
“A good start,” said Professor Helios, pausing behind him. “But look for a moment at me, and the way I carry my wings so the weight rests fully on my chest muscles.” He turned to the side and arched his back. He’d removed his shirt at some point, although Harry hadn’t heard him do it. “That’s a much less exhausting way to do it.”  
  
Harry frowned a little and studied the mirror. “I thought I was doing that.”  
  
“No. You used your muscles to spread them—which is good, since they’re not meant to spend all their time folded—but now you’re trying to support them on your shoulders only again. See?” Professor Helios held out a finger and traced a curve that Harry had to admit was invisible to him. “Your wings should be standing further out from your back. Higher. Can you do that? _Good_.”  
  
Harry still couldn’t see the curve Professor Helios had pointed out, but he supposed he didn’t need to. He _could_ see the difference, how he was holding the wings out and up from his back, and yet he was still less tired.  
  
“Practice holding them there without tiring yourself,” Professor Helios commanded, and then moved back over to Lily. Harry heard his voice murmuring, but he lost the sense of the words in his fierce struggle to hold his wings up.  
  
They felt better when they were spread, except for the aching iron band over the top of Harry’s chest. He grimaced and rubbed at the band of muscle, and his wings started to droop again. Harry swore.  
  
“Try to do it without swearing,” Professor Helios advised him without turning around. “Veela have a reputation for decorum to keep up.”  
  
“I’m not a Veela,” Harry muttered, even as he stared into the mirror and studied the black bars blazing around the blue stripes he had. He supposed someone could say they were striking, even handsome. It was just hard to think of _himself_ that way. Harry didn’t think he was ugly, but he thought he was ordinary. An ordinary Auror, who worked hard to get people to take him on his own merits, instead of deciding he was—  
  
A hero. A savior. Now, a Veela. Someone remarkable.  
  
It helped, a little, to think of them as someone else’s wings he just happened to be holding up and keeping clean, instead of belonging to him. Harry learned how to shift them back and forth in accordance with the band of muscles. He worked out what would feel good instead of exhausting, namely flapping them. Some unsecured parchments blew around the room, and his feet rose off the floor.  
  
“Not yet,” Professor Helios called to him. “I understand you’re an excellent flyer with a broom, but flying with wings is different, and you’re not used to it.”  
  
Harry blinked and landed on the floor again with a thump. “Who told you that?” he called over his shoulder. “The part about me being a good broom-flyer?”  
  
“Your mate.” Professor Helios was crouched down in front of Lily and talking to her now, and Lily was wiping away something that looked like tears. That made Harry turn back to the mirror, even though he wanted to gape.  
  
Why would Malfoy go around randomly bragging about Harry’s flying skills, when those same skills had let Harry beat him more than once? Maybe he had complained about it before Harry even got here. That made more sense.  
  
But Harry didn’t think Malfoy would have any reason to complain about Harry before he got here, either. That was years in the past. Harry had received lots of different impressions of Malfoy over the last few days, but he didn’t seem like someone who spontaneously brought up old grudges from Hogwarts.  
  
If he had gone around bragging about Harry _after_ he had found out they were mated, however…  
  
Harry lowered his head, and shook it. Looking at himself in the mirror like this, with black hair and weird eyes for a Veela, but shining wings, he could almost understand why.  
  
But he slammed the door in his mind on that understanding. He blocked it. He wouldn’t let himself start thinking of Malfoy as a real mate any more than he would start thinking of his wings as beautiful.  
  
There were certain instincts that had taken over in Testig’s classroom, ones that Harry couldn’t allow out again. All right, it was pretty harmless to lie with his head in Malfoy’s lap and croon when the git touched him. But what would happen when the classes ended, when the month that the professors had told Harry he would need had passed?  
  
It was all too easy to imagine what would happen, at least for Harry. He would leave and go back to his normal Auror job. Maybe his wings would be useful for some of the cases he’d have to take, or criminals he had to pursue.  
  
What kind of place would his life have for Malfoy?  
  
Harry shook his head a little. He couldn’t imagine it, and he thought that was a bad sign. If his mate was going to be present in his mind and his aura and whatever other Veela powers he had from now on, shouldn’t he be able to imagine him more easily?  
  
His wings were standing proudly out to the sides now, and Harry sighed and pulled them back in. He wanted to see if he could fold them, and where they would land. Maybe he could come up with a position that would allow them to be more comfortable and yet still let him wear clothes.  
  
Just as he finished folding them, there was an odd, golden shudder in the air. Harry backed up, spreading his wings instinctively. He scowled as they appeared in the corners of his eyes. Until he could actually use them to fly, the damn things would be a liability.  
  
But when he looked around the room, nothing appeared to have changed. Professor Helios was still kneeling in front of Lily, staring at her half-spread wings. There was a Veela woman standing in the door of the classroom, probably someone who had come to talk to Professor Helios.  
  
Then Harry realized one thing _had_ changed. Both Professor Helios and Lily were motionless. They appeared to have stopped talking and even stopped breathing. And the Veela woman in the door looked the same way.  
  
 _Was it a spell that froze them?_ Harry panicked, running towards them and casting a _Finite Incantatem_ in their direction that didn’t appear to do anything. _Why didn’t it affect me? I’m a transformed Veela like Professor Helios—_  
  
They moved again when Harry was halfway across the room. Harry sighed in relief. “Professor Helios?” he called out. “Was that a spell you cast?”  
  
Professor Helios faced him without answering. His wings were beating slowly in and out, in a rhythm as slow and steady as a heartbeat. Lily was doing the same thing. Harry blinked and looked at the Veela woman in the doorway. Yes, she was also beating her wings that way. And he doubted Professor Helios would have recommended that to _her_ as an exercise.  
  
“Professor?” Harry called. He had stopped.  
  
Professor Helios moved forwards and made a soft sound. Well, at least it started soft. Then it spiraled up into a shrill birdsong. Harry winced and put his hands over his ears. Lily was standing beside him and making some weird gesture with her arms. She appeared to be trying to put her hands on her hips and dance at the same time.  
  
The Veela woman flew over both their heads and landed in front of them, between Harry and Professor Helios, but facing Harry. She spoke to him in a voice that sounded like she was about to start whistling. “I am willing to fight for the honor of claiming you.”  
  
“I—what?” Harry hadn’t known that a Veela claimed by someone could be claimed by someone else. Malfoy had seemed pretty sure that he was Harry’s mate and that was it.  
  
“Your mate,” the Veela woman breathed. “I know you have one, but he must not be taking proper care of you, because your allure would not be so strong otherwise.”  
  
The golden shudder in the air, and the way everyone was acting—  
  
 _My allure’s manifested. Shit._  
  
The Veela woman started towards him at the same moment as Lily and Professor Helios, who seemed to have given up on singing. Their eyes were blank and hungry. And Harry could see only one escape from the lot of them.  
  
He leaped, his wings unfolding, straight up.  
  



	7. Veela Fights

_Chapter Seven—Veela Fights_  
  
Harry used his muscles the way Professor Helios had been showing him, snapping his wings open and then shut, flapping in a big circle towards the far end of the room. It was awkward, and it blew air in all the wrong places. Riding his broom, Harry was used to wind around his face, but not _right_ around his face.  
  
And he was tilting to the side as he wouldn’t tilt on a broom, because these wings were on the sides rather than underneath him, and he was already gasping from how hard his muscles had to work—he was an Auror, but this was different labor than he had ever done—  
  
It all led to one conclusion.  
  
 _I have to practice._  
  
He glanced back and saw the Veela woman flying after him. Professor Helios was still on the ground, looking up with a calculating expression that made Harry’s skin creep. He thought Professor Helios was trying to figure out where he would land.  
  
Lily was jumping up and down, fruitlessly working her wings. She stamped a foot a second later, and tried harder.  
  
Harry didn’t think he had to worry about her. For now, the Veela woman was a worry because she looked like she was a better flyer than he was. Harry tensed once, and then spun downwards and around to the side, the way he would if he was trying to avoid a Bludger on a broom.  
  
It seemed to work and not work at the same time. For a moment, his wings beat madly, and Harry was sure he would stall. Then the air around him steadied, and he was flying the way he wanted to. For a minute, his own reflection in the mirror distracted him, but he thought—  
  
His reflection wasn’t alone. The Veela woman closed in on him from behind and murmured, “Touch you enough, feed you my allure, and I can make you my mate as easily as Malfoy did.”  
  
She dipped her wings somehow and swept under him, coming up in front of him. She had one hand held out, her fingernails sparkling in a way that made them look like claws, and Harry could see a whirl of white magic gathering around them. He thought it must be Veela magic, something he wouldn’t know how to fight given his lack of training.  
  
And he panicked.  
  
He screamed, and the woman flinched. Harry had never heard his own voice sound so shrill before, loud and ringing as an eagle’s cry. He ducked past her and past the reaching arms of Professor Helios and out into the corridor beyond them, flapping hard. If he could get away from them, maybe he could find a professor who wasn’t affected by his allure and finally be able to land and—  
  
Do what? The problem was, even though he was flying pretty well now and away from the crazy seductress, he still wasn’t sure how to control his allure or what to do next.  
  
Doors were starting to open, and people were leaning out. Harry could see sparks around them, and at least some professors appeared to be pulling their students back into the classrooms. He sighed a little. If that went on, he would have a harder time finding a professor who could help him, but at least he wouldn’t have to run away from as many forcibly enchanted Veela students.  
  
 _Fly away,_ Harry thought, and then heard the woman behind him calling again. When he glanced back at her, he saw Professor Helios hanging from the ceiling at her right. He fell and opened his wings. He looked like a great bat for a moment, and then he hurtled past the woman and straight at Harry, faster than Harry thought _he_ could move on a broom.  
  
 _I have to find an open space,_ Harry thought, as he dipped down and flew along the corridor bottom, spinning to try and confuse Professor Helios into thinking he would land. _This is useless without it!_  
  
He tried flinging open doors as he went along, but it slowed him down, and everything led into a classroom where hungry cries greeted him. Professors glared at him and slammed them shut. Harry shook his head and flapped harder. He had avoided Professor Helios’s reaching hand already by turning a corner at the last moment and ducking down, but he was getting even more tired, and the corridors ahead were wide. The woman and Professor Helios could circle around him and get in his way.  
  
“Don’t call your mate,” Professor Helios said from behind him, so close that Harry tucked in his wings in panic and fell towards the floor, weaving back and forth, and got away again. “That shows that your bond is not strong, and he would only get in the way of what you and I could have, anyway.”  
  
 _Call Malfoy? It’s as simple as that?_ Of course, Harry had no idea where Malfoy was at the moment, since he hadn’t needed elementary instruction in Wing Management in the way Harry had.   
  
And no idea how to call him, if the chase hadn’t already.  
  
A hand grabbed the edge of Harry’s right wing. A pair of legs tried to entwine with his. Harry struck out with his free wing, and heard Professor Helios groan as he fell to the floor. Harry promptly fled down the corridor again, and this time, for the first time since he’d become a Veela, he deliberately tried to use the magic for something other than a wand spell.  
  
 _Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, who thinks he’s mated to me…_ Harry had to land when he reached a door and found it led into a cupboard. He slammed the door behind him and held the knob from the inside as Professor Helios rattled it outside. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the ache in his wing, leaning one of the black bars that surrounded his blue stripe against the wall. _Draco Malfoy, come to me. Your mate needs help!_  
  
That did _something_. Harry was abruptly sure of it, although he couldn’t have said why. But yeah, there was a shudder and a blaze through his wing, and suddenly he staggered back as a faint black-and-blue light began to shine in the cupboard.  
  
He heard Professor Helios pause, and hoped that maybe that would be enough to make him wake up, or drive him away. But a second later, Professor Helios yanked hard enough on the outside of the door to make it open and spill Harry into the corridor instead.  
  
Harry rolled as he came out, using Auror training, although it was kind of spoiled by the weight of the wings. Professor Helios was lunging with his arms held out and a look of deadly concentration on his face.   
  
But Harry had already bounced off the wall and fluttered above him. Professor Helios seized his ankle in the next second, and Harry screeched and hit him as hard as he could with the wing that didn’t already hurt.  
  
Professor Helios staggered. Harry broke free of him and turned to fly again.  
  
Only to stop. The corridor was crowded. There was Lily, and the Veela woman who had tried to corner Harry in the Wing Management class, and some people Harry thought must be other students, since he hadn’t seen them before. Their faces were closed and hungry, and they reached forwards with twitching hands.  
  
Harry shook his head and prepared to cast some spells. He didn’t know any that would clear a large crowd out of the way, but he would have to try.  
  
Then Malfoy arrived.  
  
He came hurtling down the corridor from beyond the crowd, the opposite direction to the one Harry had been looking, screaming at the top of his lungs. It sounded like a hawk’s scream, furious and deadly. The people in front of him flattened themselves to the floor a second.  
  
A second was all Malfoy needed. He was hovering in front of Harry then, and he spread his wings out and blocked Harry from the sight of the crowd.  
  
He was still screaming. Harry could see the sounds actually working. Already some of the Veela had less glazed eyes, and a few glanced around as if they couldn’t remember what they were doing here.  
  
Harry dared to sneak a look at Professor Helios. His face was red, but he stood with his hands on his hips and shook his head at Harry.  
  
“Perhaps you could have paid more attention in Veela Mate Culture about what to do when your allure manifested?” he asked.  
  
Harry started to reply, but Malfoy whirled around and got in between them, his mouth open. Harry stared. Malfoy’s mouth had a sort of _shell_ around it, like he was growing a beak to enclose his nose and lips. His hands, when he raised them, looked the same way around the fingers, but these shells were going to be talons. And his wings beat and chopped and glittered, because the edges had a kind of metallic glint to them.  
  
“He’s gone full Veela,” Professor Helios whispered. “Soothe him, Potter.”  
  
“I don’t know _how!_ ”  
  
Probably because Harry’s voice had got shrill, Malfoy screamed again and started to dive at Professor Helios. Harry, panicking, grabbed Malfoy from behind and cuddled him against him, and said the first thing that occurred to him. “I’m all right now that you’re here.”  
  
It was difficult to hold onto Malfoy and fly at the same time, but then he didn’t have to. Malfoy’s metallic wings and talons and beak all faded, and he turned around and embraced Harry and began to make tiny noises deep in his throat.  
  
Harry swayed as they landed abruptly on the floor, with Malfoy still wrapped around him and nuzzling his neck. A deep, startling relaxation was spreading all through Harry’s muscles, as though someone had managed to plunge him in a warm bath and he hadn’t noticed. He hesitantly put his arms around Malfoy and nuzzled him back.  
  
“Away.”  
  
Harry heard Professor Testig’s voice and wanted to pull free, but Malfoy held him there. His small noises had turned into little chirps, and Harry knew they would probably become bigger ones if he tried to discourage Malfoy. He didn’t want that to happen, so he rested his head on Malfoy’s shoulder and gave Testig an embarrassed smile.  
  
Then he realized she wasn’t talking to them. She faced the crowd, her wings lifted so Harry still found it hard to see them, and spoke cold, quiet words. “You should know better than this. A fledgling might manifest his allure at any time, but you should have controlled yourself better. And _you_ , Helios. You’re mated, aren’t you?”  
  
Professor Helios said something Harry didn’t bother to listen to, because Malfoy had started making peculiar growling noises. Harry thought it might be because Harry wasn’t focused on him. Harry turned to him and nuzzled his face again.  
  
Malfoy lifted his wings and draped them around Harry’s shoulders.  
  
Harry gasped, shudders of pure delight and pleasure running through him. So far, Malfoy had touched him a lot, but never wing-to-wing like that. He hadn’t even known it was possible to feel this kind of thing as a Veela.  
  
“That’s right,” Testig said from outside the cocoon of wings. She could have been talking to almost anyone, Harry thought hazily. She didn’t matter right now. “Let’s go back to our classes and work on self-control. _That_ would be a good idea.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes a second later, partially because Malfoy’s had begun to burn with a shimmering fire that made him a little dizzy. And he was catching his breath and his sense of himself back, and—  
  
He couldn’t just surrender and go along with things the way he had in Testig’s class. What would happen then? He would leave later and start feeling as though he was bedazzled by Malfoy’s Veela beauty or something, and not much else. Then he would start questioning and doubting, and he would be taken by surprise the next time a Veela power appeared.  
  
He raised his hands and laid them on Malfoy’s shoulders. Malfoy crooned a wordless question in response. Harry didn’t shove him away, but held him there, and concentrated on something other than the sensation in his wings.  
  
It turned out to be hard. Harry had a lot of experience resisting pain and persuasion, but not a lot with pleasure. Still, in the end, even having someone who could touch him like this wouldn’t be worth the loss of other things.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
At least Malfoy was speaking in a human voice again, even if that voice _was_ filled with pain. Harry opened his eyes and said, “I’m trying to decide where I end and the Veela begins.”  
  
“You _are_ the Veela.” Malfoy was staring at him with his mouth hanging open. “What nonsense are you talking about? Of _course_ you’re the Veela.”  
  
Harry just shook his head a little, his gaze finding Testig’s over Malfoy’s shoulder. “Not in the way you mean. I started questioning my decision to surrender to your claim in Professor Testig’s class almost right after I made it. And you saw what happened when I did _that_.”  
  
Malfoy reared back, his wings rising in an alabaster curve around them. “How can you question this? Can’t you see how _right_ it is? Feel it?”  
  
“You’ve been here longer than I have, and you know more about this. Sorry, but I need to know more.”  
  
“Am I understand, Mr. Potter, that you came here with _no_ knowledge of what classes you would have to take and what Veela powers you would likely develop?”  
  
Harry swallowed and turned to face Testig. He found her a lot more intimidating than Malfoy. But he also wanted to answer honestly, because she was probably the one who knew the most about mates and could explain the most to him. “Yes.”  
  
Testig looked at him in silence, with a blank face. Finally, she said, “The Healers should have told you.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “They were too busy arguing about what exactly the shade of blue on my wings was.”  
  
Testig’s face went even blanker. Harry saw one person still behind her, a student lingering in the corridor, put a hand over her mouth and give something like a shocked giggle. Then a hand shot out of the classroom door next to her and pulled her inside. Harry shook his head.  
  
“I knew you didn’t know exactly what a claim was,” Malfoy said. He had moved backwards so he wasn’t touching Harry, but he could touch him as easily as he could breathe. His voice was perplexed. “I thought you were prepared for other things.”  
  
“No.” Harry shut his eyes. “Professor Grunnell talked about controlling my powers. I didn’t know they would show up suddenly like that, or everyone would be affected.” He opened one eye to peer at Testig. “I also know Professor Helios has a mate. _Why_ was he affected?”  
  
Testig sighed a little. “There are differences in the ways the powers of newly transformed and natural-born Veela manifest, Mr. Potter. You were transformed late in life by a chain of coincidences, instead of trying to deliberately turn yourself with a potion or the like, and you’re male. All of those things would make you stronger.” She paused.  
  
“ _No one_ told you?” she finally asked.  
  
“No.”   
  
“You could have studied,” said Malfoy, his voice muffled, as he looked away from Harry towards the corner he’d flown around. He was still close, but there was a stillness in his wings now that told Harry Malfoy wouldn’t move to touch him even accidentally. “You could have looked things up. That’s what I started doing the second I started transforming.”  
  
“I was under the control of the Healers while I waited for my wings to finish growing, and they kept arguing and then telling me not to worry about it,” Harry snapped back. “And then—I didn’t want to. I thought someone could teach me to control my powers pretty quickly. Hell, I still hoped they could after I got here. A month isn’t such a long time. It isn’t going to change my life.”  
  
Malfoy leaped away as though Harry had tried to jab a spike in his wings. Testig fluttered a little, then settled down. “How can it not change your life?” she asked.  
  
“Because I still have a job and friends?” Harry stared at her. “I mean, I have wings, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to spend all my days flying. I’ve had legs all my life. Wings are something new to get used to, but I’ll get used to them. They aren’t going to stop me from being an Auror.”  
  
Testig actually put her hand to her mouth, something Harry wouldn’t have thought her capable of. “You need to know more than simple terminology and facts,” she whispered. “You need to change your whole attitude.”  
  
“You do. Please, Harry.”  
  
It was the dullness of Malfoy’s voice that made Harry turn, not the fact that he was speaking. Of course _he_ would think Harry needed to change his mind and his lifestyle, because both of those things had some impact on Malfoy, too. But he should have sounded arrogant about it, high-handed, not this—droopy.  
  
And he was drooping. His wings almost fell to the floor, for the first time since Harry had seen him. His eyes were glazed. He put out a hand as if to touch Harry and then let it fall, since that apparently took too much effort.  
  
“What the _hell_ ,” Harry said. He moved forwards to touch Malfoy, but Testig got in between them and shook her head.  
  
“You shouldn’t touch him again unless you plan to honor his claim.”  
  
“And I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”  
  
Testig nodded once. “I should have suspected this, when I saw some of the ways you reacted,” she said. “Not left it up to others. Come to my rooms. You, too, Mr. Malfoy,” she added over her shoulder.  
  
Malfoy did, although he remained silent and pinch-lipped all the way there. Harry watched him from the corner of his eye. He thought Malfoy would probably perk up at the chance to get Harry alone and hear Testig lecture him on how wrong he was, but he just stumbled along, never raising his feathers or his eyes higher than the stone.  
  
 _He’s upset because I rejected him—when he’s only had this “claim” on me for a few hours, and these bars of color around our stripes are the only things that say we’re compatible, and he used to hate me.  
_  
 _Why am I the only sane one here?_


	8. A Chamber of Secrets

“You should eat before you start consuming these secrets, Mr. Potter. You might not have an appetite afterwards.”  
  
Once again they were sitting on cushions in a room with white walls, but this time it was Testig’s room, or office, or whatever it was, not a classroom. The effect was less overwhelming here, although Harry did notice a kind of faint spiral in the ivory walls that he had a hard time looking away from. And there were low couches amid the cushions, almost indistinguishable from them.  
  
Harry stared down at the bowl of what looked like crushed ice and cream Testig had pressed into his hands, and took a bite. It melted down his throat, sweet and also a little slimy. He shook his head. “I won’t be able to eat this anyway.”  
  
“You should still eat it,” Malfoy said. He sat on a blue cushion across from Harry, wings tucked decorously into his sides. “You’ll need some sugar for the words ahead.”  
  
He turned away when Harry tried to catch his eye. Harry grimaced and sucked on a shred of ice. He reckoned that should be safe enough.  
  
“Now,” said Testig. “I notice you don’t use your wings much, Mr. Potter. You tend to keep them as still as possible. You shrug as though you forget they’re there. You almost sat on them when you made your way to that cushion. Why is that?”  
  
“I’ve only had them for a few days. Is it _that_ surprising that I haven’t learned to use them yet?”   
  
“Many of those who become Veela,” said Testig, surveying him from within the castle of her own wings, “are overjoyed to have them. They look forward to learning how to fly. And they incorporate them smoothly into their gestures.”  
  
“I could already fly,” Harry snapped. He saw the way she stared steadily at him, and closed his eyes, picking up another piece of ice. This time, some of the cream got into his mouth, and he choked.  
  
“Does this resistance to your wings come solely from your love of Quidditch, then?”  
  
Testig’s voice had softened. Harry still didn’t look at her as he shook his head, because he didn’t see the need. “I haven’t even played in years. It comes because I could _already_ fly. And I want to learn what I can and go home. Go back to my friends and my job.”  
  
“You think everything is going to be the same. Despite your wings and your transformation.”  
  
Testig’s voice had no discernible emotion this time. Harry still nodded and opened his eyes, although he looked at her walls more than at her. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it be? I’m not going to quit my job, and once I get control of my allure and anything else dangerous, then I won’t hurt my friends.”  
  
“Veela are different from non-Veela.”  
  
“Maybe people who have family heritage or who wanted to be turned into Veela are. But not me. Mine was accidental.”  
  
“They are different because they _have_ to be, because they need to think of their actions and bodies in a different way.”  
  
“Not me.”  
  
“I see.” Testig abruptly sounded weary. Harry turned back to her and saw her crossing her wings in a way that made him think of exasperation. _Although she’d probably say that crossing your wings and crossing your arms mean different things, too,_ he thought in faint disgust. “Mr. Malfoy, I invited you along because you are Mr. Potter’s mate, but I think this is one area in which you would do a better job of explaining than I would.”  
  
Harry turned to face Malfoy, biting the inside of his cheek in exasperation. Why _would_ he? Malfoy seemed to be exactly like Testig. He thought the wings were wonderful and being Veela made him non-human.  
  
Malfoy waited a second instead of leaping immediately ahead, his expression calm and meditative. That at least made Harry relax. Then Malfoy nodded and said, “I’m a transformed Veela, too. You knew that?”  
  
“I know male Veela generally are.”  
  
Testig shifted, but said nothing. Malfoy only nodded again. “But I didn’t tell you the story of how I transformed.”  
  
“No.” Harry focused on him and tried to ignore the shimmery feeling tugging at his attention, the one that wanted him to crawl over and nestle against Malfoy.  
  
“I used a potion.” Malfoy arranged himself on his cushion so none of his skin touched the floor. “I wanted to be beautiful and powerful. I wanted to be _different_ from what I was.”  
  
 _So not like me, then,_ Harry thought.  
  
“But when I woke up, I found out it wasn’t like that. I thought I was—going to pick up another set of tools. Like the wings were tools I would use, and so were the allure and any other powers I’d gained by changing. But that’s not the case. Things that are part of your body can’t be tools. Unless you’d say that your magic is only another tool, only as important to you as your wand?”  
  
“No,” Harry conceded. “I would still be a wizard even if you took my wand away.” _And not a Veela._ He wondered how much he could emphasize that, what it would take for them to understand.  
  
“Exactly.” Malfoy relaxed and smiled at him. “But I wouldn’t still be a Veela if someone ripped the wings off my back. And no, Potter, I know that was offered to you as an option, but those potions really _are_ experimental. The only Veela they’ve actually tried them on are ones who either got their wings crippled in accidents and so couldn’t fly again, or whose mates died. Both of them classes of people who thought they would be happier without being what they’d been born as or turned into.”  
  
“And?” Harry didn’t like the tone with which Malfoy said “classes of people.”  
  
Malfoy looked straight at him. “They still suffered depression. In some cases, they killed themselves. The ones who didn’t spend most of their time staring out the window and watching birds fly. They can’t stand to be around other Veela. Do you want that to happen to you?”  
  
“Of course not! But I think the Healers would have told me about that if it really happened—”  
  
“You think? When they didn’t tell you anything else?” Malfoy leaned forwards, and Harry was aware that Testig was fading back towards the wall. He supposed she thought Malfoy would become closer to his real mate by lecturing him or something.  
  
Harry gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be listening.  
  
“They were busy. They didn’t have _time_ to tell me anything else—”  
  
“If they were arguing about things like what shade of blue the stripe in your wings was, they could have taken time to tell you.” Malfoy unfolded his wings, drawing Harry’s eyes, as always, to the blue bursts around the black bars on their upper curves. “As it is, I’m not angry that I need to tell you. I can finally correct some misconceptions you have about mates.”  
  
“They seem random to me.” Harry tore his eyes away from their mingled colors on Malfoy’s wings and glared at his face. “We’ve never got along. We barely know each other now. Why would this magic match us as mates?”  
  
“Ah.” Malfoy inclined his head. “That _is_ something that it’s hard to find answers to—”  
  
“I knew it.”  
  
“Which doesn’t mean the answers don’t exist.” Malfoy shook his head at Harry as Harry’s mouth snapped shut. “You need to listen to me instead of simply charging straight ahead.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Then tell me the answers that the Veela have discovered. With centuries of research, no doubt.”  
  
“Research, and living with wings, and the magic that chooses mates.” Malfoy’s face became tranquil, to the point that Harry thought he looked like a professor himself. “The magic _is_ mysterious, but it matches up people with a long-term chance of success. Not a short-term. They might not like each other at first, but they get to know each other long-term.”  
  
“And there are no mate pairs where they keep disliking each other?”  
  
“Not uncomplicated dislike, no. The kind of thing that you think you feel for me.”  
  
Harry was _trying_ to listen, so he didn’t snap and snarl, the way he wanted to, but said, “I hate being told that I don’t feel what I know perfectly well I feel. Too many people have told me that I really felt I had to support their causes or whatever else they wanted from me. That I really loved them if they were my fans and obsessed with me, for example.”  
  
“I’ll try to explain,” said Malfoy, although his wings snapped out suddenly. “The dislike these mated people felt for each other was not as simple as not wanting to be around each other. They might work together quite effectively as political teams, for example, despite not making successful marriages. They were drawn to each other and couldn’t fall away. I know about teams of Unspeakable partners, government allies from opposing parties, Ministers and their spouses, and so on, who were Veela mates.”  
  
“I have no desire to do any of that.”  
  
“I know. You want to be an Auror.”  
  
“I _am_ an Auror. And that’s the sort of lifestyle you’ll have to fit into, unless you want me to leave you behind. Do you think you could become an Auror?”  
  
“No,” Malfoy said simply. “But I told you, there are pairings of mates that work like that. It doesn’t mean they all do. The magic that made us mates may have meant us for a different existence. An existence more like a traditional marriage.”  
  
“Impossible.”  
  
“You keep saying that. You haven’t provided any proof so far.”  
  
“I shouldn’t _have_ to.” Harry’s own wings sprang out with a rattle like armor, and he decided not to tuck them back against his sides. “We’ve always disliked each other! You keep assuming here that I’m your mate and I’m just going to surrender to you. There’s no reason I should become your mate, really. You just want me to. Well, I don’t want to. I want to go away and resume my normal life.”  
  
“I’m not talking about a surrender.” Malfoy had sat up and was staring intently at Harry with narrowed eyes. “If you think that I am, then maybe that’s one reason we’re not getting along well. I’m talking about a relationship where both of us _would_ be equal, but it _would_ be a struggle. The magic has paired us because we’re good together, but not all the time.”  
  
Harry bit his lip and tried not to snap. That did sound more like a real romance than the dreamy-eyed, swoony sort of thing he had thought Malfoy was talking about.  
  
But he still had questions to ask. “If you think that it means we would have to work at it—”  
  
“I do think that.”  
  
Harry pressed his hands flat against his knees and kept on. “Then why were you talking about a claim and getting jealous when other Veela approached me? Why did I just melt when you touched me earlier?” Malfoy looked so smug at that that Harry wished he hadn’t mentioned it. “That doesn’t sound—real. It sounds stupid and the kind of thing that people always think Veela are doing.”  
  
“People who aren’t Veela, yes.” Malfoy leaned towards him, eyes brilliant. “The magic that bonds us needs to ease us through the initial process, especially since we don’t seem intuitive choices for each other. So it increases my jealousy to hasten the bonding. It gives us some incentives, like feeling good when we touch, to have us remain near each other.”  
  
Harry gave a single shudder. “But I can’t just be—controlled by my groin.”  
  
Malfoy blinked once. Then he said, “I never thought you were. But until you master your allure, you’re going to influence other people that way.”  
  
“I _want_ to master it! I just don’t want to melt around anyone and surrender to them!”  
  
“I told you it wasn’t.”  
  
“It still feels like a surrender to me.”  
  
Malfoy threw both his hands and his wings in the air. “I’m telling you the _truth_. How is it my fault if you disbelieve me just because you want to?”  
  
Harry rubbed his forehead. Then he said, “I don’t know the first thing about mastering my allure, and I want to do that before I spend a lot of time making eyes at you and lying in your lap.”  
  
“Now that your allure has manifested,” said Professor Testig abruptly from the side, actually making Harry leap to his side and drop the stupid ice-and-cream confection she’d given him, “you’ll have to master it in the presence of your mate. With the _help_ of your mate.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes. No matter what he heard, the bad news seemed to grow worse.  
  
“So there’s no going back to my normal life,” he whispered. “I’m stuck with wings I don’t want, with a mate I don’t want, with a _life_ I don’t want.”  
  
“That life can be better than the one you so mourn leaving behind.”  
  
Testig sounded as condescending as Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry opened his eyes and glared at her. “Could be. But it sounds like an awful lot of work, especially given who this mysterious Veela magic chose for my mate.” He glared at Malfoy, who turned his head to the side. “And it means that once again, I don’t get a _choice_. Once it was a prophecy dictating everything, and now it’s an accident. Malfoy wanted a different life and it turned out even more different than he thought it would, fine. But _I_ never wanted this.”  
  
Testig was silent, studying him. Then she said, “Most people who want to be Veela want the grace and glamour and fame.”  
  
Harry laughed until he choked, ignoring the way that Testig was still silent and still studying. He finally pushed his hair away from his scar. “Tell me what I don’t know about fame.”  
  
“The grace and glamour, then?”  
  
Harry shook his head. “I have people yelling at me and calling me ugly, sure, but I have even more people claiming that I’m the most beautiful person they’ve ever seen and they fell in love with me at first sight. I don’t _need_ anything that you say most people dream of having when they turn into Veela.”  
  
“I see more about why you are so resistant to it.” Testig turned to Malfoy. “And in this case, I think Mr. Malfoy might be the one best-suited to answer you.”  
  
Harry spread his wings with a sigh of resignation and faced Malfoy. “What do you think we can have besides a mostly-broken partnership?” he asked.  
  
Malfoy sat still, but he no longer looked despairing or exasperated. He looked far more like he was drinking Harry in. Harry braced himself against simply giving in because that was what Malfoy wanted from him.  
  
“We can have a stronger partnership than you think,” Malfoy finally said. “I don’t think ours is going to be the like the ones I told you of, with only one purpose where we can work well together. I have no desire to be an Auror.”  
  
“ _I’m_ going to be one.”  
  
Malfoy nodded. “But your job isn’t your life, is it? I can provide you a partner who loves you—”   
  
“But how are we going to know what’s love and what’s this _magic_ pulling us together?”  
  
“When you can be as content in my presence as you are during those moments when I’m touching you and you feel the magic thrumming through you and relaxing your muscles.”  
  
Harry blinked and felt his wings drop a little. It was a better definition than he had expected Malfoy to come up with. “Oh,” he said, and smoothed down a feather in his right wing. It was easier than meeting Malfoy’s eyes head on.   
  
“Yes, ‘oh,’” Malfoy shook his head. “Harry, I don’t want you to feel trapped in this. That’s not why the magic and the mate bonds exist. They exist to give us _greater_ freedom, and let us find something larger than ourselves to be a part of.”  
  
Harry had no idea what to say to that, so he changed the subject. “So how do I learn to control my allure? And what other powers might I get?”  
  
“Your allure is the most potent of those powers,” said Testig. “The others you might gain would be the partial transformation that Mr. Malfoy showed in the corridor this morning when he sought to defend you from the Veela attracted to you, the ability to hurl fire, and the ability to call swans to you.”  
  
“Swans?”  
  
“They are the birds that Veela resemble the most.” Testig stepped back and held her hands out with a little flourish to Harry. “But, as I told you, those powers must be explored at the side of your mate now that they have manifested. Because you are claimed and mated, there is no way to use them on your own.”  
  
Harry faced Malfoy again. He felt as if he had sand on his tongue, but on the other hand, he could be generous. He cleared his throat a little and murmured, “Would you help me with them, Malfoy?”  
  
“Call me Draco.” Even as Harry opened his mouth to do it, because he had to, Malfoy hastily added, “Not as some kind of price. I’d help you either way. But I like the sound of your voice saying my name.”  
  
Caught with his mouth open, Harry stared. Malfoy’s face was vulnerable, nervous, and pale. He didn’t look away from Harry’s eyes, though, and that alone told Harry how brave he felt.  
  
Harry swallowed back the protest—of any kind—he could have made, and said, “All right, Draco. Sure.”  
  
The light that blazed like a star in _Draco’s_ eyes didn’t convert Harry to completely accept his hypothesis about them being content with each other, but it did make it look a little more likely.   
  



	9. Mates

"Please accept my formal apology for pursuing you," said Professor Helios, and bowed to Harry with his wings held out to the side. "You and I are both mated. It should not have happened."

Harry held back a groan. Professor Helios was bowing to him in the middle of the dining hall, of all places. Why couldn't he have done it in private? Or at least a corridor?

Although, from the way the other Veela gossiped, Harry supposed it didn't much matter where he did it. Someone would find out and start spreading the gossip around anyway.

"You're forgiven," said Harry, and watched as Professor Helios stood straight and rotated his wings. "Just don't do it again," Harry added, and then winced as he saw the measuring way Professor Helios looked at him. That had sounded awful, hadn't it? Or at least it wasn't the right ritual words to say.

Then again, expecting him to learn the right ritual words to accept an apology like this on top of everything else was absurd.

"I won't," said Professor Helios. "By the next time we meet, I'm sure that you'll have formal lessons in controlling your allure anyway, courtesy of your own mate." He nodded to Harry and sauntered away towards a distant table, where a golden-haired woman looked up with a smile to welcome him.

"Are you also the one who has to give me etiquette lessons?" Harry asked Malfoy, who sat on the other side of the table from him.

Malfoy—Harry did remember to call him Draco aloud, but it was hard to remember in his head—lifted his head and smiled at him. Harry had to choke a little. The smile was the most sincere he had ever seen Malfoy give, and had nothing of the false or the syrupy about it, as Harry had assumed it would.

" _Has_ to is an ineloquent way of putting it." Draco, or Malfoy, or whatever, stretched out his hand and lightly squeezed Harry's. "It's a duty that I gladly take up."

Harry stared down at his hand and sighed a little. He wasn't hungry. "Can we go back to our rooms and talk about this some more? I'm still worried about making an arse of myself."

"Our rooms?"

"Um, I mean, your room, my room, whatever," Harry said hastily. "With the door open. To talk." One thing he _had_ managed to pick up from today's Veela Mate Culture lesson was that until a pair of mates was bonded—which was apparently a step _beyond_ claiming—they weren't supposed to be together behind a closed door.

"If you wish." Draco gave him a half-smile and stood up with an orange in one hand and a small knife in the other. "I must say, it seems rather late in the day, and a bit frustrating, for you to be adhering to formal rules _now_."

Harry flushed. "I've already made things worse than I knew by stumbling around without my allure properly-controlled. I don't want anything like that to happen again."

"An admirable sentiment, but the school's seen worse, I assure you."

"I know, but I don't know a lot about that, either," Harry admitted, and gathered a handful of nuts to dump into his pocket. "That's one of the things I think we need talk about."

"The history of the school? If you want."

Draco moved his wings a little and turned away, but not quickly enough to keep Harry from seeing the hurt look on his face.

Harry groaned to himself and ran over as Draco floated towards the door of the dining hall. He thought Draco was actually beating his wings a little to hurry himself along, although he did it so subtly that his heels didn't even lift from the floor. Harry envied that trick and wanted to know how he did it, but he also wanted to hold Draco still and make him listen to him.

"Nothing's going to work if we don't talk honestly to each other," Harry said, and held Draco still with a hand on his shoulder. Draco glanced at him and fluttered his wings again, as if he wanted to protest but didn't know how. "I don't know what I said to offend you just now, but it was something. What?"

"Let's at least step into the corridor. This is the kind of private I don't want the other students or professors to overhear."

Harry nodded and followed willingly. Draco paced slowly in front of him, his wings leaping and jerking. Harry kept walking until he thought they would get back to their rooms in silence at this rate. But just before he would have cleared his throat, Draco started speaking.

"I don't want to spend time telling you the history of the school. I want to talk about the things I can _help_ you with. The history of the school isn't one of those."

Harry blinked at Draco's back. Draco didn't turn around or flush or laugh. He just kept plodding as if he assumed Harry would immediately run away to the library to find the school's equivalent of _Hogwarts, A History._

"Er, fine," Harry said. "I mean—I don't understand why those things can't come later and we can't talk about things like what mating means and claiming and bonding first, but fine. I'll find someone else to tell me the history of the school." He shook his head a little. He didn't feel any nearer to understanding Veela despite being one.

Draco turned around and floated back towards him. This time, Harry was watching closely, and he didn't think there was any doubt of it. Draco _was_ flying. Subtly, yes, but his feet did sometimes rise. That must be why so many of the Veela seemed to be gliding around like the swans Testig had compared them to.

"You've _got_ to show me how you do that," Harry breathed, and looked up into Draco's wide stare.

Draco's eyes shone with something that Harry couldn't call love, but he also thought it was softer than obsession. He reached out and glided a hand down Harry's cheek, and Harry had to close his eyes.

He didn't think it was the mates thing, assuming that still existed after his flash of allure and the way he had enchanted other people. It just felt good to be touched like that. And even though Harry had dated plenty of people since the war, he hadn't had many who would do something like this.

 _Most of them were more adventurous,_ he thought wryly, and opened his eyes again quickly as Draco's forehead came to rest against his. Draco didn't even seem interested in lifting his fringe and looking at his scar, the way most of his dates had been.

"I promise you're going to have what you want," Draco breathed back, and drew back, but allowed his hand to slide along Harry's cheek and maintain the connection between them for a second. "Mates first. Everything else second. I just thought you were more interested in the history than that."

Harry shook his head. "The mates thing first. Definitely."

Draco smiled a little and nodded. "Then come with me." And once again he went floating up the corridor, while Harry followed him and studied him and tried to convince himself that he wasn't seeing things.

But in the end, he decided he wasn't. It really _did_ look as though Draco's floating gait was happier than it had been before he and Harry talked about what he would teach him.

* * *

Draco's rooms were a little fancier than his, but Harry didn't think that had anything to do with who the school assigned priority to. Rather, Draco had brought a lot of material comforts along from Malfoy Manor, and had used them to furnish his rooms.

There was a bathroom with a tile floor done in colors of glassy green and rich blue, and a mosaic of swimming fish so realistic that Harry almost jumped when he saw it. There were curtains that were almost plush, the material was so thick and white, and Harry had the urge to touch them. There was a huge bed with pale silver sheets that Harry wanted to sit on, even though Draco was leading him towards the fireplace, because it looked like the most comfortable thing in the room.

Then again, the chairs were pretty bloody comfortable, too. Harry nestled his head against the cushion on the back of his and sighed, feeling as though some of the tension of the day was leaving the cramped muscles of his neck.

"You look as though you'd be happy to mate with that chair, Potter."

Harry looked up quickly, blinking. Malfoy—that was pure Malfoy in that tone, without the softer one he'd come to think of as "Draco." Was he really jealous enough to hate the way Harry was letting his head rest on the chair? Because _that_ would be a problem.

But Draco smiled at him as always and then sat down on the chair across from Harry. "This is the kind of thing I can offer you if we finish our bonding," he said. "Luxury and comfort. The kinds of things that you _should_ have had from the time you were a child." His fists knotted in his lap for a second. "The kind of thing you would have had if your parents had survived."

Harry only shrugged uncomfortably. He didn't think Draco knew much about the Dursleys, and he was content to keep it that way. "I thought we _were_ mates. 'If we finish our bonding…' What does that mean?"

"As far as I'm concerned, we're mates," Draco said quietly. "Our magic is compatible and you respond to my touch."

"But there's more to it. One of the Veela my allure affected said something about being able to change the claim, or stake another one, or something. Is that true?"

"If the claim isn't followed up on, yes." Draco sighed a little. "And we know it wasn't followed up on enough because you could let your allure go and charm other people. If it had been, then all your charm and allure would have been focused on me."

Harry slowly tilted his head back until he was staring at the ceiling. That looked the same as the one in his room, anyway. "I still don't know how to feel like the allure is part of me," he admitted. "Like it's me and not just some-embarrassing bodily function that's charming people."

Draco snickered. Harry looked at him. "What? Charm practically is an embarrassing bodily function when it does something like that."

"Yes, all right, I can see how you feel." Draco held up one hand when Harry opened his mouth again. "I just never heard anyone describe it that way before."

Harry found his wings ruffling, and consciously tried to smooth his feathers down. At least that worked better on his second day in the school than his first. "I think everyone else in the school feels more like they're part of their Veela," he said quietly. "Or the Veela is part of them. Whatever. I just feel like the wings are attached to me and I want them off, and the charm is attached to me and blurts out whenever it wants."

"You're still you," Draco said quietly. "Same history, almost the same body. As stubborn and brave and handsome as you ever were."

Harry watched him and tried to ignore the feeling of the blush that heated up his cheeks. "I do think you've changed since Hogwarts," he said. "And so have I."

Draco nodded. "I won't deny that. The boy I was could never have stood to be mated to you. Or he would have lorded it over you."

"Let's get on to you telling me what being my mate _does_ mean, then," Harry said, with as much cheerfulness as he could. "Since we've established that it doesn't mean me changing in essentials and you've already changed and we're not eternally together."

"Not yet," Draco said, and sat up, his wings fluffing out to the sides. Harry glanced at them before he could stop himself, and winced a little. The blue bars were so bright that they actually looked almost neon.

"Listen," Draco said softly, and Harry's eyes snapped back to his face. Draco's voice was still gentle, but Harry no longer thought it was adoring. He wanted to make sure Harry was listening so he didn't have to repeat himself, probably.

Harry nodded. "I am."

"Good." Draco slid his fingers through the cloth of his trousers. He kept his gaze on those fingers, as if he was a little worried about what he would see on Harry's face. "What I told you about the magic that binds mates together? It's probably not accurate to say that it's mysterious and not understood. There are different theories about it, that's all. Different traditions. I wasn't about to say that in front of Testig, though."

"Because she believes in just one theory?"

Draco snorted a little. "Exactly. And that's that you have to cope with _what_ happens, and stop asking questions about _why_ that can never be answered."

His eyes rose again, and Harry blinked. He didn't know if Malfoy had had that ring of blue around the outside of his eyes before, but it was strangely enthralling.

"This is true no matter what," Draco whispered. "A claiming is a temporary tie between two individuals. I wouldn't have been able to make one if your magic wasn't compatible with mine and you didn't respond to my touch, though. If I tried one with another new Veela, she wouldn't feel anything like you did. If I tried it with Professor Helios, his magic would repel me."

"The difference between an unmated Veela and a mated one?" Harry guessed.

Draco nodded. "Or even between one who's only gone through one stage and one who's gone through both." He hesitated. "The claim is called that because it's basically a shout at the world that 'I want this one! Right here!' But a claim can be disputed. If another Veela with compatible magic comes along and charms the claimed one, she can still disrupt that forming bond and stake a claim of her own."

"Will I respond to someone else the way I would to you?" Harry interrupted. The thought made his spine prickle. It was bad enough with someone he knew and who was trying to be decent about the whole thing. He didn't know the other Veela students in the school at all well.

"You would if your magic was exactly as compatible with hers as with mine. But that doesn't happen often." Draco's wings had become stiff, as if he was gliding on an invisible wind. "If there are two Veela near you who are both potential mates, it's only the stronger one who shows the bars on their wings."

"So I wouldn't know if she was compatible with me anyway," Harry finished, thoughtfully, wondering how he felt about that. Would he like a female mate more? Someone he didn't know that well, but could get to know?

"The bonding is more complicated," said Draco loudly.

Harry blinked and focused on him again. Draco looked as if he was about to jump out of the chair and swoop across the room towards him. Harry leaned back a little and raised his hands. "I didn't say I would want to bond with a compatible female mate instead. It would still have the same problems with taking my choice away."

Draco stared at him for the space of a hard breath, then nodded and let his wings droop a little. "All right," he said. "Anyway. The claim is fragile and it can be broken, although usually only by another compatible potential mate. The bonding is—a ritual. A ceremony. A feast. It has to be followed by making love and preceded by courtship."

Harry shook his head hard. Draco was at his side in an instant, feeling his ears as if trying to determine what had made him do that.

"Harry?"

"I wasn't saying—no," Harry said. "It's just that we're a long way from that. And anyway, you told me about mates who disliked each other. Did they really court each other and make love afterwards?"

His voice was a little weak. Harry wasn't a virgin, of course not, but the thought of going to bed with someone who had _courted_ him…he was just used to dating, that was all. And not setting out to sleep with someone. He had dated plenty of people he just thought were interesting and who he would give the chance to have something more with him, instead of deciding that he would take them to bed the minute he saw them.

"A couple of the Ministers have had political partnerships like that," Draco said. "Several members of the Wizengamot. But—Harry, I don't want that. I want the more romantic traditional mate bond."

Harry glanced at him reluctantly. Draco's eyes were large enough that Harry could see his reflection in them.

"I know," Harry said. "That's—the kind of family I would want to have, as well. I certainly never envisioned marrying for some kind of political reason." He took a deep breath and sat up. "But I never envisioned being courted, either. What is _that_ process like?"

Draco's eyes seemed to glow. He said, "Usually one Veela knows more than the other, if it's a courtship between two Veela instead of one Veela and one ordinary wizard. It's common for mates either to be different ages or for one of them to manifest as a Veela first." He spread his wings in silent comment. "So they teach their mate, things like controlling their allure, and they also get taught by the mate."

"How?" Harry didn't feel as if he could teach anyone at the moment. He certainly didn't want to try.

Draco eyed him thoughtfully. "You may know a little about traditional human means of courtship? About giving gifts and flowers and that sort of thing." Harry nodded, although the only things he knew were hazy memories from Muggle primary school and some poems he'd had to read there. "Well, the gifts and so on in this courtship don't get given by the courting mate. They manifest between the two compatible partners. You teach me what you like, what you need." His voice lowered. "How to win your heart."

Harry licked his lips, staring at Draco. He couldn't help himself. This sounded—ridiculously romantic and soppy, the kind of thing he had heard Lavender and Parvati talking about when they still attended Hogwarts.

But it was also the kind of thing he had to cope with, at least for now. And he didn't think that Draco would agree to snap apart the claim, or not bond. And he had to admit, he was curious.

He hadn't thought this kind of Veela bond _could_ give him anything romantic or permanent or desirable. But what if it could? What if he walked away from it without giving Draco the chance he'd given a bunch of other people he dated, up until the point when they turned out to be more interested in the flash of the cameras than in him?

"I'll give it a chance," Harry said. "How easy is the courtship to stop?"

"Only one of the participants can stop it."

Draco had a soft _glow_ around him, like candleshine on his wings—only there were no candles behind him that could be making him shine like that. Harry smiled and raised his hand to stroke the edge of Draco's wing. Draco hissed blissfully in return, his eyelids flickering up and down.

"We'll try," Harry said. "And the first thing I'd like to do is learn to control my allure. So there aren't any more people thinking they _can_ interrupt."

Sometimes, even with other people he'd dated, he would say just the right thing. From the blazing look in Draco's eyes now, he'd done it again. Draco reached out and tightly linked his fingers through Harry's own.

"Yes," Draco whispered. "I think that would be—best."


	10. First Step in Courting

“Veela would never have come out of our hiding places to mate with wizards and others who don’t understand if our numbers had not started getting low and we had not come to understand that we had to look for mates elsewhere.”  
  
Harry hid a yawn behind his hand. So far, he wasn’t much enjoying the Veela History class, taught by Professor Emmeline Stone, a small woman with intense yellow eyes and yellow stripes on her wings. She was a slightly better teacher than Professor Binns had been for wizarding History, but at the same time, everything seemed to come down to mates, other than a few wars Veela had fought with the goblins.  
  
 _Do Veela do anything for other reasons?_ Harry decided he would ask.  
  
Professor Stone faltered visibly when Harry raised his hand. She seemed to assume questions should only happen at the pausing points along the process that _she_ had put there. But she finally nodded to Harry, probably because it would look silly if she tried to put him off. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”  
  
“Could you teach us something that doesn’t have to do with our mates?” Harry put his hand down and smiled at her. “I mean, does everything _only_ come down to mates? That seems a little mental. Humans don’t only do things because of sex.”  
  
“You’d be surprised,” Draco muttered from beside him.  
  
Professor Stone either didn’t hear him or liked Draco better than Harry. She moved a step forwards, and her wings fanned hard enough to make the parchment Harry had been trying to take notes on flutter. Of course, since half the parchment said only “Mates, mates, mates,” and since it was awkward to write sitting on a cushion on the floor anyway, that was no great loss.  
  
“But Veela are not human.”  
  
Harry gritted his teeth. “I _meant_ , surely we must have motives unrelated to our mates?”  
  
“Why?”   
  
Professor Stone sounded genuinely baffled. Harry rolled his eyes, and didn’t bother disguising it this time. “Because everyone is more complex than who they’re mated to? Two of my best friends are married, but I don’t think their marriage is the only thing they’ve got happening in their lives.”  
  
“It isn’t?”  
  
Harry paused. Professor Stone wasn’t a ghost, but given the one hundred percent of two examples he had so far, Harry was starting to wonder if history teachers were just intrinsically damaged in some way.  
  
“I think,” Draco interjected smoothly, “that Harry means that we seem only to have gone to war, or made trade agreements, or lived our daily lives, because of our mates, when that is not true.”  
  
“Of course it’s true,” said Professor Stone, and looked at Harry as if she still didn’t understand his problem. “Veela are creatures of love and beauty. Why should our lives not be driven by love and beauty?”  
  
Harry tried to think of himself as a creature of love and beauty, and then bit his lip. He knew he would start laughing too hard to stop in a second.  
  
Draco catching his eye only made it worse. Harry bowed his head and bumped his chin against the floor hard enough to jolt his jaw a little and take his mind off it. He couldn’t _help_ it. He remembered Dumbledore saying his great power was love, but he doubted Dumbledore had meant it the way the professors here did.  
  
 _Or otherwise he would have wanted me to fuck Voldemort to death._  
  
Harry did start snorting in spite of himself. Draco gave him a faint shove on the shoulder and faced Professor Stone with a winsome little smile. “But there are things in our lives that didn’t depend on mates. What about the Forfeit War we fought with the goblins?”  
  
“Started when the goblins took Angeline Jan’s mate as payment for work they’d done for her, because he was what she valued most,” Stone replied promptly.  
  
“The first diplomatic relations between humans and Veela?” Draco prompted, although his smile was strained. Harry jammed his chin against the floor again.  
  
“Veela needed mates, and a few fell in love with humans.” Stone peered at Harry. “Do you need to go the infirmary, Mr. Potter?”  
  
 _They’ll probably tell me I need to be a creature of beauty some more, and smear me with skin creams._ Harry covered his mouth and shook his head. Stone only said, “You look as if you were going to be sick to your stomach.”  
  
 _Maybe I should have asked Voldemort to be my Valentine._  
  
He snorted again. Draco hastily overrode him. “But I remember the tale of Minister Delacour. That wasn’t driven by a mating bond. He had a mate at the time. He was the one who forged the alliance between magical France and magical Britain that preceded the end of the Muggle wars between them by centuries, right?”  
  
“Because his mate wanted a gown made specifically in Britain,” said Stone. “So you see, Mr. Malfoy, all a Veela’s decisions do come down to what his or her mate wants.” She gave Harry an indulgent smile. “Even if in this case, it’s your mate contributing to try to find a discourse he thinks is more sensible for you.”  
  
Harry flushed, his desire to laugh leaving. If she _knew_ …  
  
“I want my mate to be sensible, of course,” Draco said, with a sideways glance that made Harry frantically stare at the ceiling. “But it’s worthwhile for him to think about human history and Veela history and how they’re different. And how they’re _alike,_ too.”  
  
“It does seem a little restrictive to only talk about mates in history,” agreed one of the other young women, the only Veela Harry had seen so far with dark hair. “Can’t we talk about something else? Like, was it hard for Veela to integrate with wizards because they had women who were leading, while wizards had a lot of men leading, too?”  
  
Stone looked flustered, to the point that her wings were fanning up and down. “You children don’t yet have a sense of real history,” she said.  
  
“But we want one,” said the young woman. Janice, Harry recalled after a second, was her first name, although he couldn’t remember the last one. “The kind of history that isn’t just mates. You _know_ that history, don’t you, Professor Stone?”  
  
Stone looked red enough that Harry bit his lip to keep from chuckling. Then she wrenched her wings up and said, “Of course I do, but I am here to teach you _Veela_ history.”  
  
“What about the bits that don’t have mates in them?” asked a witch who had both bright red hair and red bars on her wings. “There must be some.”  
  
“But they aren’t as _interesting_. Veela are creatures of love and beauty—”  
  
“Even love and beauty get boring when they’re the only things you have to hear about,” said Janice, and the red-haired witch nodded vigorously. Harry thought about doing the same thing, but it might set Stone off. “Tell us some other parts, please, Professor Stone?”  
  
Stone glanced from face to face and then sat down with an abrupt bump on her cushion. “If you’re _sure_ that you want to hear them,” she said.  
  
Everyone in the class, or at least everyone Harry could see, was nodding, and Draco had a secret little smile, as though he was personally responsible for Stone choosing to change her mind. Harry nudged Draco and Draco nudged him back, his lips still wrinkled smugly.  
  
“All right,” said Stone mournfully. “Then you should know there _are_ a few wars the Veela fought with the goblins that didn’t come about because of someone’s mate…”  
  
*  
  
“Will you let me perform the first step of the courtship today?”  
  
Harry twisted to look over his shoulder. It had taken him some time to get used to looking past the arch of his wing, but Professor Helios had worked with him on that and it was easier now. “What do you mean? I thought you couldn’t court me until the first gift manifested.”  
  
It was still odd to talk about magic like that, and Harry wasn’t sure he would understand until he saw the first one show up. But presumably that would show him exactly how different Veela magic was from human magic.  
  
Draco ducked his head, so he was looking at Harry through his pale eyelashes. “We can set up circumstances where the gift might manifest, though. And there are some rules about how we do that, but they have to do with mood and place, not with exactly what we can do. Will you come with me on a lunch away from the school?”  
  
Harry perked up. Anything not to eat in the dining hall with people watching him and speculating about his status as Draco’s mate right now. “Does that mean we can have some meat?”  
  
Draco blinked. “You’re not worried about your predatory instincts manifesting?”  
  
“Right now, they’re pretty far down on the list of things I’m worried about, yes,” Harry said dryly. “I’m much more concerned about the allure.”  
  
Draco smiled. “I thought we could practice in this place on how to get your allure under control, too.”  
  
Harry nodded. “Then I accept your invitation for lunch. But I still want to know about the meat.”  
  
“It’s a place on Malfoy grounds that haven’t been used in a long time.” Draco smiled at Harry in a way that had a thrill to it, and his wings extended and flapped heavily up and down. “I can tell my elves to prepare whatever you’d like to eat, including any kind of meat.”  
  
“A ham and cheese sandwich.”  
  
Draco’s wings stopped flapping. “I offer to get you anything you want, and _that’s_ what you ask for.”  
  
“That’s what I want,” Harry said stubbornly, and held Draco’s disapproving gaze. He finally rolled his eyes a little, when it seemed Draco wasn’t going to do anything except gape, and said, “You can think of it as your first courting gift, if you want.”  
  
That had been the right thing to say; whatever luck had given Harry the ability to say the right thing to Draco the other day was back. Draco’s feathers smoothed down, and he gave Harry the kind of smile Harry liked best. Sometimes Draco tried too hard to be seductive, or sweet, or so wonderful that he seemed to think Harry would sit beside him and only think of him forever instead of other things. But like this, he was just happy.  
  
“Yes,” Draco said. “I’d like that very much.” He put out his hand, and Harry took it. He didn’t feel the urge to nuzzle his cheek against it the way he had when the claiming was happening, but maybe that would come back. And it would be better this time if it was under his conscious control.  
  
“Let me contact the house-elves, and then I’ll come back to escort you to our lunch.”  
  
Harry watched him strut off down the corridor. This time, his feet were definitely on the floor instead of floating, probably because he could walk more proudly this way. Harry chuckled and went to change his robes. He still wore his Auror ones, because some things were _not_ going to change, but he didn’t want them to get torn or damaged by something outside the school.  
  
*  
  
“A place on Malfoy grounds that haven’t been used in a long time” turned out to be a spot on a smooth green field that suddenly curved into a cliff. Beneath the cliff, the North Sea heaved and gleamed. Harry found himself so mesmerized by the way the waves broke on the rocks that he almost forgot to eat.  
  
Well, forgetting would admittedly have been easier without a mate who would push him into eating when he forgot it. Draco actually hit him with a wing when Harry leaned over the cliff to make out the foam better.  
  
“You’re making me nervous, and I don’t like that,” Draco explained when Harry glared at him. “You’re supposed to be paying attention to me and not the sea, anyway. What’s so fascinating about it?”  
  
“I’ve never seen it this close and where I could concentrate on it by itself instead of as part of a quest,” Harry answered. He wanted to lean over the cliff again, but Draco had brought him here and had the house-elves make him his ham-and-cheese sandwich despite the obvious _inferiority_ of it. Harry sat back and stretched his wings. “How can you teach me to control my allure?”  
  
As Harry had thought would happen, referring to “Veela things” made Draco smile and forget about the cliff. “You need to focus it,” he said. “To think of it as a tool for attracting your mate, instead of attracting random people.”  
  
“But I’ve already attracted you,” said Harry, blinking. “Doesn’t that mean I can’t use it that way?”  
  
“You can always deepen my thoughts and my emotions about you.” Draco’s voice was rising in contrast, becoming a croon the way it had a few times in the past. “ _Always,_ Harry.”  
  
“Do you want me to do that, though?”  
  
Draco’s brow wrinkled, and some of the glaze in his eyes vanished. “No, I’m sitting here and almost begging you to do it because I hate it and it makes me feel like a slave,” he snapped. “Come on, Harry. Try.”  
  
“I don’t even know how to summon my allure, though. The last time, it just broke free. I don’t know what I did.”  
  
Draco raised his eyebrows and laid his own sandwich aside. “Well, finish eating and I’ll show you. I didn’t know you were in that situation, or I would have planned different lessons.”  
  
“I didn’t bring you here to be my minder, either.” Harry concentrated—he still had some trouble making his wings do delicate movements—and managed to reach out and scoop up Draco’s plate, offering it back to him on the tips of his feathers. “You finish eating, too.”  
  
Draco looked from the plate to Harry’s face, and for a second, seeing his odd expression, Harry was afraid he’d committed some other Veela faux pas. But then Draco smiled, and chirruped once, and took his sandwich and ate it.  
  
It was peaceful, and they didn’t speak for the rest of the meal. Harry even looked over the cliff again with no comment from Draco. He noticed Draco looking at the sky, too.  
  
 _If this is part of being mates,_ Harry thought, as he sucked a few thin slices of ham off his palm, _then I think I like it._  
  
*  
  
He _didn’t_ like the allure lessons.  
  
“But you have to want me to like you. _Really_ like you. Look at you and dream of you and desire you.”  
  
“I want you to like me. I mean, I can,” Harry babbled quickly, wondering if he should have phrased things that way when Draco was already looking at him with half-lidded eyes. “I can want it. But I don’t want to turn you into the kind of drooling maniac that my allure made those other people into.”  
  
“The first time, I probably will,” said Draco, as if it was normal and not something that should upset Harry. “But you have to keep going. Remember that I volunteered for this. Better than having anyone else help you learn.” For a moment, his eyes weren’t half-lidded at all, but flashing the way they had when he drove off the other Veela.  
  
Then Draco abruptly relaxed and smiled winsomely at Harry. “Try it.”  
  
Harry looked at him, and Draco continued to sit there and smile encouragingly. So Harry focused on him, shutting out the sight of the cliff behind him and the ocean below, and thought tentatively, _I want to enchant him._  
  
Nothing happened. Draco’s wings stirred a little in the wind, and Draco gave him a chiding glance. “If you were doing this properly, I wouldn’t even notice that. You should make me _yours_.”  
  
Harry grimaced. “But I never wanted to do that with all the fans who chased after me. I just wanted them to think.”  
  
“Think what?”  
  
“That I was a human being just like them and they should leave me alone.”  
  
“Well, now we’re both Veela and I want to want you.” Draco gave him a faint smile. “I want you already, but the idea of this is to give it a little boost. Come on, Harry.”  
  
Harry tried again. He thought of the allure as a white glow around himself that he was throwing towards Draco, and how he would surround Draco with it and make his skin prickle. Then he tried to imagine it as an attractive force that would pull Draco towards him. When nothing happened with that, either, he tried in desperation to think of his own features as so beautiful that Draco couldn’t help but admire them.  
  
Still nothing happened, and Draco’s smile was a bit more on edge.  
  
“I know you don’t want to be a Veela, Harry,” he began in a patronizing tone that made Harry grit his teeth. “But that’s what you _are_. You had _better_ master your allure, or you’ll attract even more fans to you when you leave the school. Is that what you want?” He paused, and something new came into his face, something Harry didn’t like. “Or do you secretly love the attention, and just think that you have to pretend you don’t so people will think you’re modest?”  
  
“Oh, _for fuck’s sake!_ ” Harry screamed, and then focused his allure and his magic on Draco as strongly as he could. He wanted Draco drooling, he wanted him flying towards Harry, he wanted him—  
  
Draco shuddered and bowed his head. Harry paused, unsure. It would be just like him to have given Draco an upset stomach or something when he was going for allure.  
  
Then Draco’s eyes snapped open, and they were a mirrored silver blur, all the humanity gone from them. He spread his hands, which had turned into talons, and pounced towards Harry like a hawk towards its prey.   
  
Harry rolled away from him, squeaking and kicking, and his foot caught Draco in the stomach. But Draco only fluttered up and came down on the other side, trying to kiss or bite his face off. Harry wasn’t sure there was a difference at this point.  
  
He was so busy struggling with Draco and trying to take back his allure and shouting in his ear for him to stop that he forgot where they were.  
  
And the next thing he knew, they were rolling off the cliff, Draco too crazed with allure to even pay attention to his wings, and Harry trying to fend Draco off and fly for both of them at the same time.  
  
 _Bloody Veela magic!_


	11. Falling, Winged

Harry wrenched his head back as Draco tried to bite his lips, and _he_ tried to think. When he reached for the magic that should have made his wings work, though, it didn’t come, and then he realized Draco’s arms were clamped around his chest, partially holding the muscles prisoner.  
  
 _Of all the—_  
  
Harry pulled at Draco’s arms, but they didn’t move. And, worse, Draco was now wrapping his wings around Harry, too, muttering something about wanting to make sure no one saw him.  
  
 _There’s no one here!_  
  
But common sense wouldn’t matter if the fall killed them or wounded them. Harry grabbed his wand and moved it up so it pointed at Draco’s stomach. Draco was so intent on kissing him that he only thing Harry had to worry about was the spell bouncing back on him.  
  
And Harry didn’t think it would, not with the amount of Auror training he had.  
  
“ _Stupefy!_ ” he snapped, and Draco went limp, hanging in Harry’s hands as if he was a bundle of cloth. Harry stuck his wings out and flapped as strongly as he could. He no longer had the drag on his muscles, and he could shift Draco any which way he wanted, and he could breathe deeply, the way Professor Helios was always telling him to do, instead of having to kiss Draco.  
  
Still, it was a near thing. They leveled out maybe a meter above the tossing waves. Harry let himself hover there and tremble and gasp and swear.  
  
“Harry?”  
  
Draco had revived from the cold spray landing on him, but at least he appeared to be sober now, if wide-eyed about where they were. Harry relaxed. He hadn’t felt the pulsing of the allure about him that had happened when he was really focusing it on Draco, but then, he wasn’t good at sensing his own power—or restraining it, obviously. He’d been afraid the allure was still going on and he wouldn’t know.  
  
“We fell over the cliff when you attack-snogged me,” Harry said as soothingly as he could. “I’m going to cast a Lightening Charm on you and then we’re going to fly back up and land and never leave the ground again, okay?”  
  
“I can fly—you don’t need to carry me like an invalid—”  
  
Draco was struggling in his arms, getting ready to leap out and fly somewhere else, and Harry reacted before he thought about it. He clamped his arms around Draco’s chest and screamed into his face. Draco fell back as though Harry had cast another Stunner at him and stared at him in fear mingled with awe.  
  
Harry flushed and shook his head a little. “Right,” he said. “That was stupid of me. But, Um. Don’t do that.”  
  
“Of course not,” Draco whispered, and stayed absolutely still as Harry cast the Lightening Charm and they soared back up. Harry could feel his own legs trembling as they landed. He sat down right away, not caring that Draco was part of the way in his lap and partially lying on the ground. The important right now was that they were still alive.  
  
It seemed like long minutes before Draco murmured, “You have the Shriek. That’s not really fair.”  
  
“What?” Draco was making even less sense than he had under the allure, Harry thought. He touched the back of Draco’s head and urged him to sit up, though, so he could cast a few diagnostic charms on him and make sure that he wasn’t hurt or shaky.  
  
Draco cast him an ironic glance as the charms sped over him, and snorted a little. “The Shriek. It’s a power to stun everyone in earshot when you scream like a Veela. It’s one of the powers not everyone gets. _I_ don’t have it.”  
  
“Huh,” said Harry. He shrugged. “Is that one that’s easier to control than the allure?”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes a little. “There’s nothing difficult about controlling the allure. You just happen to have strong magic and I want you. That’s the only reason for the dramatic reaction.”  
  
“Right,” Harry said. He helped Draco sit up and eat a little of the remains of their lunch. “Dramatic enough to send us rolling off a cliff?”  
  
He couldn’t be sure, since Draco had his head turned so that he was sitting in profile to Harry, but he thought Draco blushed. “I didn’t plan that, either. I only wanted…” He picked for a minute at the food, then murmured, “I see why you had a crowd of them chasing you the other day.”  
  
“Yes, but the point is to get them to _stop_. So how do I do that? Without endangering your life,” Harry added hastily, because he thought Draco had opened his mouth without thinking enough about it.  
  
Draco ate a few bites, although it was obvious his attention was elsewhere. “I think you should try again. But this time, try to think about something specific. Think about making me want to kiss you, or hold your hand. Something that’s not violent.”  
  
“It’ll be you holding my hand. Kissing me is what made us fall off the cliff last time.”  
  
Draco’s wings gave a little agitated flutter. “I _said_ I was sorry for that. But yes, if you want to stick to something tame and boring, then it would be a good idea.” He sat back and rolled his eyes, holding his hand out a little.  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes. _Tame and boring? I wonder what he thinks exciting would be? Knowing the git, falling off a cliff is the_ least _he thinks someone should do to show they’re infatuated with him._  
  
Harry sat back with a little turn of his neck and a shrug of one shoulder. “It’s not my fault if I’m so exciting that touching me makes you forget all kinds of common sense. I’ll concentrate on your hand because it’s all you can be trusted with for right now.” He lowered his gaze onto Draco’s hand.  
  
This time, he saw it was trembling. He smiled a bit. Then he again envisioned the allure as a bright glow around himself, and imagined that he was projecting it towards Draco.  
  
Draco tossed his head back and gasped softly. The allure seemed to be taking hold of him. Harry did that just until he was sure that Draco’s eyes were glazing, and then turned back to Draco’s hand and thought again. _I need him to reach towards me._  
  
Draco did it. His fingers at once brushed Harry’s knee, and Harry hissed and bowed his head. There was a power, a warmth, coming from Draco that he hadn’t counted on. When he squinted, he thought he could make out a heated, pearly glow around Draco, too, and his smile was too wide and knowing—more than Harry had counted on.  
  
 _But I wanted him aware and thinking, not falling all over me again,_ Harry thought in confusion. _How can I want this many different things at the same time?_  
  
“Have you forgotten that I have allure of my own?” Draco asked through barely parted lips. “And that I might want things from you, love?” He caressed Harry’s knee, and it really did feel as though there was no cloth there at all. “Because I do.”  
  
Harry shivered. This was a lot better than the mindless expressions he had seen on so many faces the other day. But he managed to hold back his impulse to curse, and only nodded. “Yes, I do see that,” he said, and focused on Draco’s hand again.  
  
“God, that’s so _warm_ ,” Draco said, and to Harry’s immense satisfaction, took his hand away from Harry’s knee to wring it a little. “How are you doing that?” He stared back and forth from Harry to his palm, as if answers might be there. “I don’t—that’s incredible, to have that much focused allure at this young age.”  
  
“Because I’m so much younger than you are—”  
  
“I meant young as a Veela,” said Draco, with a roll of his eyes that didn’t look as calm as he would have wanted it to. He was still clenching his hand and staring at his palm. “So _incredible_.” He looked up at Harry, with his eyes sparking. “Why do you suddenly have the ability to focus it?”  
  
“I want to defeat you,” Harry said. “You were influencing me, so I wanted to influence you.”  
  
“You have from the time we were children. Even when you didn’t want to.” Draco said the words simply, and ignored the way Harry frowned at him. “But if you want to have a mutual contest, I know a more enjoyable one.”  
  
Harry heard the teasing tone in his voice, and just barely kept himself from snorting. “All right. What is this contest?”  
  
“See if you can make your lips as warm and sweet as mine when we’re snogging.”  
  
And then Draco leaned forwards and kissed him hard enough that Harry choked a little. But the hazy heat was spreading through him again the way it had when Draco touched his knee, and Harry was _determined_ to win this one.  
  
Besides, Draco acted as if he was in love with Harry already, and Harry wanted to remind him who he was dealing with. A man with desires and ambitions and who had competed against him in the past, not a simple ideal mate conjured by Veela magic.  
  
Draco hesitated when Harry started kissing him back, and then he let Harry bend him back onto the blanket the house-elves had brought them with the lunch earlier. He gasped aloud as Harry bit his neck, and Harry smiled into the skin.   
  
“Sorry, are we a little _sensitive_ there?” he whispered.  
  
At least, that was the way the sentence sounded like in his head. He didn’t get the chance to actually say it, because Draco had already turned his head and started nipping beneath Harry’s jaw, and he had _never_ had someone do that.  
  
For a few seconds, they writhed, gasping, on the blanket. Then Harry got his lips back on Draco’s and started another attack. The hazy heat was back, wrapping around both of them, making Harry feel as if he saw dancing flames. There were certainly flames between their mouths, a sweet sort of hotness, like some peppers he had eaten in the past.  
  
Then Draco, probably trying to get his hands into a better position on Harry’s shoulders but maybe doing it on purpose, happened to reach up and touch Harry’s scar.  
  
Harry choked. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had done that, and the point was, the heat spread there the same way it had everywhere else. But this was nothing like the burning the scar had done when Voldemort was alive and angry at him. This was clean, pure fire, and it made him feel as though everything ugly in his mind was clearing up. Suddenly he was calm and happy and knew he could deal with Draco as his mate and knew he could control his powers, and the despair flew away on wild wings.  
  
“There’s no lingering trace of the Horcrux, is there?” Draco breathed, and Harry couldn’t bear the way he sounded. _Frightened._  
  
Harry clasped his wrist and kissed the skin in between his fingers, which made Draco squirm and Harry smile. “No,” Harry said softly. “But you made me feel a lot better. I think sometimes I get caught up in everything that’s happening and decide it’s going to be horrible, and you cleared that away.”  
  
“Does that mean that you don’t feel horrible about having me for a mate?” Draco sat up and watched him closely.  
  
Harry blinked, then realized all the warmth between them had dissipated. Apparently, when they weren’t focusing on—or just focusing—their allure, that was what happened. He blinked again and said, “I don’t feel horrible about having you for a mate.”  
  
“You don’t say that like you’re convinced.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “And if I was convinced, then you might think I was under the spell of your allure or whatever. Is there anything that would reassure you I’m not horrified?”  
  
“Not horrified isn’t the same as enthusiastic.”  
  
“No.” Harry shifted to face him again, cautiously pleased when he automatically moved his wings out of the way instead of sitting on them, the way he knew he once would have. “But I’m not going to lie to you. I hadn’t even considered having a mate when I came here. I never wanted to be a Veela. I never tried to turn myself into one, the way you did. I never thought of myself as a creature of love and beauty, the way that Professor Stone was encouraging us to think.”  
  
Draco was silent for a second, his face working. “ _Why_?” he finally burst out. “I think being a Veela would give you everything you could want. Someone who loves you, and the guarantee other _people_ would love you, and being beautiful—”  
  
“What I’ve wanted for years is for other people to go away and leave me alone,” Harry said. “And to be good at my job, but mostly the first thing. Sometimes it’s even hard to be an Auror when other people are making eyes at me the way they do. They want to know _exactly_ what it’s like to be an Auror or Harry Potter. They babble things and make them up to get me to stay. They talk to me instead of Aurors who need to question them on certain points those Aurors are experts on.” He shuddered as a memory two years old came back to him. “Sometimes they even commit crimes to get my attention.”  
  
He looked up to see that Draco’s mouth hung slightly open. He shook his head a second later and whispered, “And that’s why you don’t enjoy the attention that you think being a Veela would bring you.”  
  
Harry nodded emphatically. “You think I _want_ to walk down a street and have people springing on me panting about my beauty and the like? It might be for different reasons than they pant over me now, but it would be just as annoying.”  
  
Draco was silent for a second, pondering things with his face bent towards the ground. Then he looked up with an earnest expression. “Well, at least you know I never fawned over you before you grew the wings.”  
  
“I know,” Harry said. “And maybe that’s one reason it’s hard for me to use the allure. I don’t want you to fawn over me _now_ , either.”  
  
Draco stretched his wings and for a moment resembled the swan that Professor Testig had compared Veela to. “I want to use my allure on you because I like the look on your face when I do,” he said. “And the way you make me feel. And the way you look at me. And the way you touch me back. And the way you kiss me. And—”  
  
Harry tried to swat him to shut him up, but Draco simply dodged and went on reciting in a deliberately bright, distanced voice. “The way you speak with your voice gone all high like that. And the way you turn to me for shelter from other allure-crazed Veela. And the way you reach for me as though you expect me to be there no matter where we’re sitting. And the way you came over a cliff to my rescue—”  
  
“You _dragged_ me over the cliff, you berk!”  
  
Draco went on, doggedly. “And the way you Stunned me, even, when you thought it was the best way to get me back to safety. And the way you pay more attention to me than any of the professors. And the way you look disgusted when you describe the other people who are trying to get your attention. And—”  
  
Harry could think of only one way to make him shut up. He tackled him, wings spread wide, and took only a moment when he was straddling Draco to make sure they weren’t about to fall over the cliff again when he pinned him down and kissed him.  
  
Draco began to squirm enthusiastically beneath him almost at once, but Harry was determined to win the competition and make Draco shut up at the same time. He kissed and kissed him, while Draco’s wings struggled and battered against his, and Draco made discontented little grunting noises in the back of his throat at not being allowed to move. Harry touched the curve of one wing, stretching it out and tracing the bright blue bar around the black stripes with one finger.  
  
Draco shivered against him, then abruptly bucked as hard as he could. Harry pulled back with stinging lips and grinned down at him. “See?”  
  
“See what?” Draco was wriggling underneath him.  
  
“See why I don’t need allure to make you listen to me and want to touch me?” Harry cupped a hand around Draco’s cheek. “I think the allure is a good thing if we’re using it specifically for our mates, but it’s also not a _necessary_ thing. We can have fun the way two humans can, as well as two Veela.”  
  
Draco raised a wing and rested it against the side of Harry’s head, spreading the feathers like fingers so they trailed down his temple. Harry closed his eyes and sighed. That was another lesson he’d like to learn from Draco.  
  
“I think you’re still underestimating the changes that will take you over when you’re a Veela,” Draco whispered. “Especially now that you have the Shriek.”  
  
Harry opened one eye. “But you understand why I want to do it?”  
  
Draco nodded solemnly. “Of course. As long as you continue to let me give you lessons in the allure and teach you how to be a Veela. As long as you don’t use this kind of thing to reject that learning.”  
  
“I don’t want to. I don’t want to fall over cliffs or endanger you.”  
  
“Good, then,” said Draco, and although he might not have believed him, Harry thought that Draco’s smile was even more dazzling than when he had been using the allure.  
  



	12. Captivating

“I must compliment you on the way that you focused your allure this morning, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry smiled politely at Professor Helios. He doubted he would ever forget the way the man had chased him when he was crazed with desire, but at least he was sober now. And considering that he hadn’t even been in Professor Millstone’s class, where Harry had focused his allure on an animated dummy that would move either towards you or away, he must have heard things from other people. “Thank you, Professor.”  
  
“But you still need to let your wings bear more of your weight than your legs when you’re crouching to take off. That’s how you make the swift transition between standing and flying.”  
  
 _Of course, he’s still got to get in a dig about how I can’t fly like a Veela._ Harry held back his resentment as best he could and nodded. “Yes, Professor,” he said, and went through the slow-motion steps of another spring into the air, while Professor Helios watched critically. After a moment, he nodded and moved on to Lily.  
  
At least they were both past the beginning stages of Wing Management now, Harry thought as he came back to rest his heels on the floor, and Professor Helios had moved him and Lily into a more advanced class. Harry didn’t like it when a teacher focused too much on him. It was easier to get lost in a crowd of almost eighteen Veela students who were practicing their wing-stretches and how to adjust their wings in various flight poses, even if he was the only man besides Professor Helios.  
  
“I envy you so much for being claimed already,” said an abrupt voice from behind Harry. “My parents say I’m too young to get mated, but they would have no choice if I got the right colors on my wings. I haven’t, though.”  
  
Harry blinked and turned around. The Veela girl who smiled at him had black hair down to her shoulders, shorter than most of them wore it, and brilliant silver eyes. She spread her wings so Harry could see the purple bars on them and bowed a little.  
  
“Kelly Adonis,” she said. “I’m one of those people who have Veela grandparents and whose parents told her over and over again that she was entirely human, since they didn’t manifest any powers and neither did my older siblings. And then I wake up on my seventeenth birthday, and there are the wings.” She shook her head a little and fluttered them. “I still trip over them.”  
  
Harry gave a temperate smile back. “I’m glad to have someone teach me how to use them,” he said. “But I still didn’t expect to be claimed or mated when I came to the school. I didn’t even have any idea what claiming and mating _were_.”  
  
Kelly put her head on one side. “You must have known some Veela before now, right? We’re not that rare.”  
  
 _We_. It was still hard to use the word about himself, but Harry thought he was getting better at it. “Only a few people from France who were part-Veela. And some Veela from a distance during a World Cup game. They were the really scary ones, transforming. But none who grew wings like—us.”  
  
“While remaining human?” Kelly shrugged. “I suppose it’s just the result of different experiences. I knew all sorts of Veela like us while I was growing up. It was really common in my family.”  
  
“I grew up with Muggles, so I couldn’t have seen any before I went to Hogwarts.”  
  
“Oh!” Kelly stared at him as if he had said he’d grown up in a war zone. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
Harry drove his fist into the side of his leg to keep smiling. He would accept sympathy from people who knew what the Dursleys were like, but she was just doing it because the Dursleys were _Muggles_.   
  
“It was the way things were,” Harry said, trying to sound normal, but Kelly glanced at him a little worriedly. Harry was glad to see Professor Helios approaching, so he would have an excuse to end the conversation without being rude.  
  
“Mr. Potter, Miss Adonis, I believe that neither of you can rotate your wings through a full circle yet without lifting them above your shoulder blades?” Helios’s voice was mild as he glanced back and forth between them. “Perhaps you should try that.”  
  
Harry nodded at once and began to try to go through the difficult, delicate motion. What good it would do he didn’t know, although Draco had mentioned something about the use of muscles and the way that stronger wings would help him in flying.  
  
“Would you show me how to do it again, Professor Helios?” Kelly sounded embarrassed. “I can’t get my left wing to go through the whole circle, even though the right one will.”  
  
As Helios moved back to help her, Harry walked gratefully towards the other side of the classroom. He privately thought this class was a bit of a waste of time. He’d already flown, successfully, when he was evading the lust-crazed Veela in the corridors and after he and Draco fell off the cliff and he had to rescue them. He would rather have spent the time learning to control his other magic or learning the history lessons that Professor Stone was (reluctantly) giving them now.  
  
But maybe it would be worth it if he could learn to walk in a glide over the floor the way Draco did.  
  
*  
  
“Why wouldn’t Veela dislike Muggles?” Professor Stone repeated blankly when Harry asked her the question in History class later that day. “Why _would_ we like them? They used to hunt us for our feathers.”  
  
Draco was sitting next to him with his wing draped over Harry’s shoulders. Harry had let him because his closeness, even the warmth of his feathers, seemed to ease the muscle aches that he always had in his shoulders and chest after Wing Management.  
  
Now Draco’s wing tightened, tugging as if he was going to pull Harry against his side. But Harry was the one who had asked this question, and if he didn’t like the answer, he could always live with it. He put one gentle hand on Draco’s side, under the shelter of their wings and shirts where no one else could see, and asked, “Did this happen when Veela still lived among wizards, then? And wizards lived among Muggles?” That didn’t seem to fit with the pattern of the Veela history as he had learned it so far, which had them living separately from even wizards until a few centuries ago, but he had no real idea.  
  
“It happened in the beginning of time.” Professor Stone snapped her wings up and down, and for the first time since they had started asking her to tell them about history that didn’t concern mates, she looked fierce and bright instead of dazed. “When we went among them as saviors, and they took our wings and adorned themselves with feathers. Brighter than swans, they called us. We made _headdresses_ for them.”  
  
“Oh,” said Harry a little blankly, and went quiet as Professor Stone turned back to telling them about one of the wars between goblins and Veela. Draco was still, only crooning restlessly under his breath when Harry moved to write things down.  
  
Harry knew from experience that that was a bad sign. But he didn’t know what Draco was upset about until they got out of Stone’s class and were heading towards the dining hall.  
  
“Why are you worried about Muggles?”  
  
Harry blinked at Draco. Then he shook his head. “I’m not. But I talked with a Veela named Kelly Adonis who said that she was sorry for me about living with Muggles, and I wondered why Veela disliked them.”  
  
Draco stirred his wings until they rose behind him. “I wouldn’t have assumed she was speaking as a Veela. She was speaking as a _wizard_. And no wizarding child should ever have been left with Muggles.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry for not growing up in the right place and not knowing all the things you want your mate to know, like the Veela courtship steps—”  
  
Draco seized his arm and spun him hard to the right. Harry spread and arched his wings instinctively, protecting the most fragile little bones and feathers from being bent or broken by contact with the wall. He glared at Draco.  
  
Draco glared back. “It has nothing to do with that,” he snapped in an undertone. “I wasn’t talking specifically about _you_. I was talking about all wizarding children. Born Veela, not born Veela, whoever they are. No one should be left with Muggles.”  
  
“Muggles aren’t all horrible.”  
  
“They don’t _understand_ us.”  
  
“Of course not, if we hide away and never explain anything to them!”  
  
Draco paused, and then moved away, folding his hands at his sides as if to keep them from touching Harry, something he normally never did. His face was a smooth mask. “You’re one of the Breakers?”  
  
Harry blinked back, and then said, “No. Not them.” They were wizards who argued that the Statute of Secrecy was outdated and should be broken, so that Muggles and wizards could live together in harmony. Harry agreed with some of what they said about Muggles and most wizards’ old-fashioned attitudes towards them, but not their lack of a political plan other than “peace.” “But I don’t think Muggles are all stupid bastards who cower and then snatch when they’re faced with magic, either.”  
  
Draco closed his hands into fists. “I don’t think that.”  
  
“Then why did you get upset when I said that Muggles aren’t all horrible?”  
  
Draco closed his eyes. His eyelids were so transparent that Harry thought he could see all his veins. “We’re arguing about two different things. I don’t think Muggles are horrible. But I also don’t think we should live with them. Marry them. Raise children in their homes.”  
  
“Two of my best friends are married to Muggles,” Harry said quietly. “Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. And all of their children so far have magic. Don’t tell me to agree with you when that would mean rejecting my friends.”  
  
Draco’s wings tensed and ruffled over his head. Then they drooped down in front of his face, so that he seemed to be looking at Harry through two enormous, dangling palm fronds. Harry bit his lip sharply. He knew he would lose Draco’s attention if he laughed.   
  
“I don’t understand how you can have grown up in the Muggle world and still be such a good wizard,” Draco muttered. “Do you know, I was looking up Veela transformations of the kind that produced you in the library yesterday? According to everything I found, you should have _died_. You only survived because your magic was strong enough to absorb the changes. But a wizard who grew up in the Muggle world wouldn’t have magic that strong.”  
  
“According to the Healers, everything about my case is unique,” Harry said, grimacing a little as he thought of the Healers and their arguments. “But I think it’s a silly prejudice, to assume that wizards who grow up in Muggle homes are less strong.”  
  
“I’m not talking about Muggleborns.” Draco seemed to think he was soothing Harry with that, but Harry only stared steadily back at him. “They’re used to it. They don’t know they’re different. Their magic can survive. But a wizard who’s not Muggleborn, who’s set apart by everything he is—his magic should be crushed before he reaches adolescence. All the theory and research shows it.”  
  
Harry sighed. He hated to reveal anything that would confirm Draco’s prejudices, but what Harry had to say next probably would seem as if it did. “Well, I fit right in with the theories, then. I’m a wizard who grew up thinking he was a Muggle. Sure, strange things happened around me, but I never connected them with magic. I had no idea that existed until Hagrid brought me my letter.”  
  
Draco reeled back from him and fell on his arse. He stared up at Harry from between wings that seemed to be crossing in protective patterns over his chest. His eyes were utterly bewildered.  
  
“Uh,” Harry said, trying to work out what he was supposed to have done now. He did reach out and haul Draco back to his feet, and asked the only question that made sense. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I’m okay,” Draco said. His voice was hoarse. He continued to look at Harry, and his face was transforming. He reached up and cupped his hands around Harry’s face, his fingers skimming his cheekbones and chin. Utterly confused, Harry allowed it. Then Draco’s wings rose and covered him in a cocoon of warmth.  
  
It was almost too hot, especially given the heat that was beginning to burn in Draco’s eyes, too. Harry reached up and touched one of his hands. “What happened? Did I hurt you somehow?” He didn’t know how words could, those kinds of words, even to a Veela, but he seemed to be learning mostly how much he didn’t know about Veela.  
  
Draco leaned forwards and kissed in him an oddly ritual way, forehead—lingering over the remains of his scar—and then nose and then cheek and then lips and then chin. “I promise that you’ll be healed,” he whispered. “Whatever damage you suffered from living in the Muggle world, you’ll be healed.”  
  
“I _didn’t_ ,” Harry said, still trying to work this out. “Unless you think I could have been more powerful if I didn’t live there? But I was powerful enough to survive the transformation and become your mate. So what does it matter?”  
  
Draco gave him a loving smile that was also condescending. Harry could feel his feathers ruffling along with the hair rising on the back of his neck as Draco took a step back and gave him a neat bow. His wings were spread out all around him as he stood back up, and his face shone with a soft pearly light, and Harry supposed he was beautiful. But with the way he looked now, he was also terrifying.  
  
“It’s a Veela’s right and duty and _desire_ to repair damage to their mates,” Draco whispered. “That means that I have to get revenge on the people who thought leaving a wizarding child to the custody of Muggles was a good idea.”  
  
Harry shuddered a little. He was glad now that he hadn’t mentioned in more detail the kind of “damage” the Dursleys _had_ inflicted on him. God knew what Draco would have felt justified in doing to them if he had.  
  
“They’re all dead,” he said. “Dumbledore was the main one. And maybe you could say Sirius was, too, if the way he gave me to Hagrid was any indication. But I know both Professor McGonagall and Hagrid objected to leaving me with Muggles. Both Sirius and Dumbledore are dead. There’s no one for you to blame.”  
  
Draco smiled again and extended a wing to touch Harry’s cheek. “You’re sweet,” he said. “And incredibly forgiving. But there’s always someone to find and blame.”  
  
“No,” said Harry. “Can’t you understand that _I don’t want you to?_ It wasn’t a crime. Dumbledore thought he was doing the right thing.”  
  
“Do you think that?” Draco moved towards him, wings flaring out for a moment in a way that blocked the sight of everyone else in the corridor from Harry. And they _were_ starting to attract an audience. He wondered if Draco cared about that.  
  
“I think he was doing what he thought was right.” Draco’s face still had this tender, triumphant smile that was beginning to make Harry more nervous than anything else he could have done. He clenched his teeth into each other and pushed ahead. “I don’t think he was the perfectly benevolent person I grew up believing he was—”  
  
Draco leaned his head against Harry’s hand. His hair was as soft as feathers. “I know you don’t, dear one.”  
  
“ _But_ ,” Harry continued, and tried to sound as hard and unforgiving as Testig had told him never to be with his mate, “I also think that Dumbledore did what he thought was best, and made some pretty large sacrifices himself. He used people hard, but he also used himself. And leaving me in the Muggle world was a way to protect me.”  
  
“He’s dead now, and I can’t touch him.”  
  
Harry nodded, starting to be relieved at the tone in Draco’s voice, that he saw sense and wouldn’t blame Dumbledore anymore.  
  
“But there are others I can touch.” Draco leaned towards him with a smile of such breathtaking sweetness that Harry’s head spun, and kissed him. Harry gasped as the warmth seemed to burn down his throat like Firewhisky. Draco drew back and shook his head.  
  
“For example,” he said, and his voice was still soft and gentle and he sounded almost like Luna Lovegood, “did you really think you could hide from me that your Muggle relatives abused you?”  
  
Harry stared at him. There had been rumors, he knew, and maybe some of his reactions weren’t what they should be, but— “If this is another facet of your bizarre claim that wizards shouldn’t grow up in Muggle families…”  
  
“No,” said Draco. “I can tell because of your scars. You aren’t always careful about hiding them, especially when someone is as close to you as I am.” He pushed up Harry’s sleeve and kissed a scar near his wrist that Harry had frankly forgotten about. “They could have abused you so much they killed you. Or you lost your magic in an effort to please them and fit in and be normal. Either way would have lost me my mate. I find that unacceptable.” He lifted his head and rubbed Harry’s cheek with his. “I _do_ hope that they have good defenses. That’ll make it more entertaining.”  
  
He unfolded his wings and sprang into the air. Harry promptly flew after him.  
  
But Draco was faster, and he smiled over his shoulder and flew straight out a door that gave onto an open portico of the school. In seconds, he was in the blue sky and fast-disappearing.  
  
Harry cursed breathlessly and drew his wand. Hovering awkwardly—he could almost hear Professor Helios telling him off for poor form and straining his muscles—he cast a Tracking Charm after Draco, and thought he felt it stick.  
  
Sure enough, a second later a steady beat began in his mind, linking him to Draco’s pulse. Harry couldn’t see him anymore, but he could feel him, and he had a direction. He spread his wings to fly higher.  
  
“Get back down here, young man!”  
  
Harry peered over his shoulder. Professor Grunnell was frowning at him, and behind her stood Testig and Stone.  
  
Harry only shook his head. “I have to stop him!” he yelled down. “He’s going to kill someone he thinks hurt me!”  
  
“He can’t be prosecuted for that under wizarding law!” Testig yelled back.  
  
Harry stared at her. Then he turned his back on the whole mad school and flew on.   
  
_As if that’s the only thing that matters. Or even_ the _thing that matters._  
  
 _I don’t think I’m ever going to fit in with other Veela._  
  



	13. Winning the Day

“Draco! Draco, come _back_.”  
  
Harry called for as long as he could see the small silvery shape ahead of him in the sky, and then he gave up and sighed, disgusted. At least the Tracking Charm would guide him. But he wanted to make some preparations before he tried to get caught up.  
  
For example, his wings ached. He could at least land and Apparate to his office at the Ministry, the location of one of the things he thought he would need most sorely.  
  
 _Sore._ Harry wished he hadn’t thought that word. His chest and upper back throbbed as he landed in the middle of a field heavy with grass, took one look around to make sure there were no Muggles nearby, and Apparated to the Ministry entrance.   
  
Only when he was striding through the corridors with people staring at him did it occur to Harry that he was Harry Potter, winged, and currently walking around with huge, jagged holes in the back of his robes. He had modified the robes when he started flying more regularly, ensuring he could beat his wings gently and not rip them further.  
  
But he hadn’t been beating his wings gently. When he got into his office and conjured a mirror to look behind him, Harry had to groan at how much of his skin was revealed.  
  
 _Shit. But it’s going to be worse publicity if Draco murders the Dursleys. I’ll tell that to anyone who asks._  
  
He dug into the bottom of his desk, swearing softly as he set aside forgotten files, the tin of lemon drops he had one of on each of Dumbledore’s birthdays, a phoenix feather that had come from Voldemort knew where, a key that opened a lock he didn’t want to think about, and more parchment, quills, inkwells, and memos than he knew could exist in such a small space. Where _was_ the bloody thing?  
  
“Mate? I thought you couldn’t leave the school?”  
  
Harry waved a placating hand at Ron. He was still digging. He knew he would find it sooner or later. After all, he had alarm spells that would have told him at any distance if it had been moved—  
  
“Ah- _ha!_ ” he exclaimed, and stood up with the small, flat box in his hand. Harry quickly enlarged the bloody thing and then opened it. Inside lay the net of woven silver mesh he had “gained” on a case that had involved a Dark wizard with a penchant for kidnapping. Harry drew it out and felt the magic purring dangerously along the threads. At least he didn’t need to worry if it still worked.  
  
“I thought you had to _stay_ at the school,” Ron said, and stuck his face into Harry’s. “And why do you want that net? Why is there a mirror?”  
  
“I need to capture Malfoy,” Harry said absently, wrapping the net around his arm. For a moment, the weave flexed as if it thought about seizing him, but he wasn’t fighting and it subsided. “And I needed to see how much damage I’d done to my robes flying around like I was.”  
  
“What’s Malfoy done now? Can I help you? Is it something _especially_ bad? Is it murder? No, you would have come stomping in here and got some other weapon if it was murder. I think.”  
  
Harry had to laugh. “No. Malfoy’s my mate, according to Veela magic and the laws of the school. But he took it into his head that the Dursleys had escaped justice for too long, so he flew away to find them and kill them. I want to stop him.”  
  
Ron stared at him in silence. Then he said, “There’s a world in which this all makes sense. I don’t think it’s this one.”  
  
Harry sighed. He had been too busy in the last few days to write or Floo, or at least he’d told himself that. He probably should have made the time. “Sorry, Ron. But Malfoy _is_ my mate according to Veela magic.”  
  
“The Veela magic needs to have its head examined.”  
  
“It doesn’t have a head, or I would have suggested that.” Harry shook himself. The longer he stood here talking, the further away—and presumably closer to the Dursleys—Draco got. “But I want to capture him without breaking his wings or anything. He’s already had one broken wing. And I didn’t even hurt him when we fell off a cliff. I don’t want to shatter that record now.”  
  
Ron trailed plaintively after him as he opened the door. “But _why_ didn’t you let him fall? Then you wouldn’t have the worry, and the world wouldn’t have to endure any more Malfoys. And the Dursleys would be safe,” he added in an obvious afterthought.  
  
Harry snapped back around before he could stop himself, his wings out to touch either side of the doorway. Ron paused and looked at him in mild alarm.  
  
“Look,” Harry said in a low voice, “I don’t want Malfoy— _Draco_ to die.” If he wanted his friends to believe that Draco was really his mate, then he should probably get used to referring to him by his first name in front of them. “It’s been crazy, and I should have written to you or tried to Floo you or—something. But I’ve been learning to control my allure and that I can fly with my wings and how to fight off crazed Veela—”  
  
“If they’ve been fighting you, then we should get you out of there,” said Ron, his face hardening at once.  
  
Harry had to smile. That was Ron, ever the loyal friend, picking that one fact out of what else Harry had said. But he shook his head. “It happened because I couldn’t control my allure. With Draco’s help, I’ve been doing that a lot better at that.”  
  
“Oh, right. You want to find him because he can help you. As well as to keep the Dursleys safe.” Ron shrugged. “Why didn’t you say so?”  
  
Harry sighed. “No. Draco’s also important to me for himself, although it’s sometimes a struggle to—”  
  
His head snapped around abruptly, and his eyes widened. The charm he had cast on Draco was filling his ears with a cascade of loud sound, which meant that Draco’s heart was beating wildly. He was probably in the midst of a battle or—  
  
Actually attacking the Dursleys right now.  
  
Harry swore and half-flew towards the door and the way he would need to take. “I’ll explain it to you later!” he yelled at Ron over his shoulder.  
  
“That had better be a hell of an explanation!” Ron yelled back. “I’ll be waiting!”  
  
Harry would have liked to look back and smile, but he didn’t have the time to do even that. He was flying steadily down the corridor, because it cleared the way when people heard enormous wings beating and he didn’t have the time to wait around for people to decide on their own that it was worth ducking away from him. He soared around a dizzy turn and ducked into a lift that was just opening, hitting the buttons frantically to make it rise back to the level of the entrance he’d come in by.  
  
On his arm and shoulder, the net hissed and danced.  
  
*  
  
Once he was out of the Ministry, Harry Apparated towards the charm’s beat, flickering across the countryside. He could only hope that he didn’t appear in front of too many Muggles, but considering how briefly he was in each room or meadow or street or entrance, he didn’t think so. He was there and then gone.  
  
And then he was _there_ , in front of a bland little house on a bland little street that Harry would have picked out as the home of the Dursleys if he knew about it, although he would have been hard put to it to name which one was which. They all looked alike, the way the houses on Privet Drive had. Exactly the kind of place Vernon and Petunia would find soothing after a time being spent guarded by “freaks.”  
  
Only it didn’t seem like it would be soothing when it had Draco pelting it as hard as he could with balls of fire. The fire had already set the front garden alight, and one of the windowframes, although the house itself was made of brick and couldn’t start smoldering. Harry could hear the shrieks of Aunt Petunia’s distinctive voice as she rushed back and forth inside. Once she opened the back door, but Draco rained more fireballs at her, and it slammed shut again.  
  
Dudley didn’t seem to be here, from the lack of “Duddykins!” that Harry heard in Uncle Vernon’s roars or Aunt Petunia’s screams. At least that was a small mercy.  
  
“Draco,” Harry called, taking the net from his shoulder and unfurling it. Hovering under Professor Helios’s tutelage had always seemed impossible, but when it was to stop his crazed mate, it became second nature to him. The net rattled and spread out so it was draped over his arms. “Back off! I don’t want them harmed. Even if they have to be punished, it’s up to me to do it.”  
  
“Yes, but you never will,” Draco said, and smiled over his shoulder, a smile of such devastating beauty that Harry fell silent in wonder. Perhaps this was why no Muggle emergency services had appeared yet, because the neighbors had seen that smile and been charmed in spite of themselves. “That means it’s up to _me_.” He held his hand high, and a bright spark cut across it.  
  
Harry shook his head to get rid of his daze and flung the net before Draco’s reasoning could convince him instead.  
  
The net unfolded busily around Draco’s back and wings, tangling them at once. Draco shrieked and beat his wings, but the net was already curling tight, making him plunge towards the ground. Harry had drawn his wand, though, and cast a Feather-Light Charm that made Draco start dropping like one. Then he flew down beside him.  
  
“I demand you release me at once,” Draco said, his voice haughty even when a mesh of the net crept around his face so he couldn’t cast spells. The net didn’t seem to react as well to just ordinary speech.  
  
“No.”  
  
“I’m defending your honor.”  
  
“No, you’re not.” Harry landed in the street a moment before Draco did, and shook his head as he watched Draco struggle madly against the weaves of the net. “If I say that this isn’t honorable, then it’s not.”  
  
Draco paused as if he had to think about that. Harry hoped it was the kind of crazy Veela logic that would appeal to him.  
  
But then Draco shook his head and refocused, with a burn in his eyes that made Harry want to stomp his foot. “You would never agree that it was honorable, any way I asked that question. That means I have to ignore your opinion and do what I want.”  
  
He tried to flex his wings, but the net had tangled them too closely. Draco hissed in surprise and tried to lift the meshes to examine them. He couldn’t, though. The net had also bound his arms at his sides.  
  
“Have you listened to what you’re saying?” Harry asked, as calmly as he could. “What you _want_. You haven’t decided, one way or the other, that this answers Veela honor. You haven’t told me how it could. You just went ahead and attacked them because you _wanted_ to.”  
  
“Desire is part of what makes Veela Veela. And possessive, protective love for their mates,” Draco added, nodding as if he was reading from a printed sign in front of him.  
  
Harry didn’t sigh. It was a miracle of self-control. He stepped forwards and bent down until his face was right in front of Draco’s. Draco looked at him instead of towards the Dursley house, which Harry hoped was all to the good.  
  
“I wouldn’t think it was a sign of love,” Harry said quietly. “And even in Veela history, there are different motivations. You saw that when we questioned Professor Stone. We got _her_ to admit that. And you haven’t had years of being a Veela like she has. Why did you really come here? Not just mindless instinct. Why?”  
  
Draco avoided his eyes. Harry nodded. He had known Draco wasn’t _that_ ruled by instinct. Something else was going on here, and he intended to find out what. He rested his elbow against the net and raised a Disillusionment Charm around them. Muggles were running out of their houses now and pouring pails of water over the flames that still smoldered in the Dursleys’ garden. Harry knew they would have to move soon, but right now that would give Draco another excuse to stay silent.  
  
Draco was quiet. Harry felt his shoulders tense, making the feathers along the outer edges of his wings ruffle, but he still didn’t move. They might have limited time.  
  
But he and Draco would also have limited time as mates if Harry couldn’t get a real answer out of him.  
  
“I want you to like me.”  
  
Draco whispered the words so softly that Harry could hardly hear them. He leaned forwards and asked in the same tone of voice, “What?”  
  
“I want you to _like_ me.” Draco turned towards him, wings flapping slightly. The meshes of the net had relaxed with his lack of offensive magic, one reason Harry had wanted to bring this weapon. If Draco was going to be reasonable, then Harry didn’t want to constrict him. “Not just tolerate me or look at me with the amused smile you do when I start talking about what mates need from each other.”  
  
“We’re courting—”  
  
“No courtship gifts have manifested yet. And you’re always talking about how you don’t like these things that Veela do, or you do things differently, and the end of the month will be here before you know it. What will happen if I haven’t convinced you to stay with me permanently by the end of it?”  
  
Draco huddled there with his wings mostly free now within the loose coils of the net, but drooping. Harry ignored the Muggle hoses and cars and police around them; none of them had decided to come into the garden of the neighboring house where they stood yet.  
  
“I don’t know what it takes to win my heart,” Harry said. “It’s not something I’ve had to think about before.”  
  
“What it takes to make you into a true Veela,” Draco said.  
  
“No,” Harry said calmly. “I know you don’t want that most of all. You want me to like you, you said.” He waved his hand at the Dursleys’ house. “Well, killing them wouldn’t have made me like you.”  
  
Draco turned his head and cupped a wing around his ear like a hand. Then he hissed. “Do you _hear_ what your aunt is telling those people about you?” he demanded in a harsh whisper.  
  
“I can imagine,” Harry said, without turning around.  
  
“No, you can’t—”  
  
“Something something freaks, something something normal life, we were interrupted while watching the telly, my horrible nephew something, incoherent mutter not safe in our own homes, why don’t they arrest those people and get them out of the country, mutter.”  
  
Draco stared at him. “You _know_ them? And you can stand there and bargain for their lives?”  
  
“I can,” Harry said. “They don’t deserve to die for what they did to me.”  
  
“Yes, _they do_.”  
  
Draco abruptly had a beak. His voice had turned hollow and demanding, and he was leaning forwards against the net in a way that made Harry start. Draco might actually be able to chew through the net, looking like that. Harry hadn’t counted on a full transformation. However, the net had shifted to tighten around him again at the use of magic, so at least Harry would have some warning.  
  
“You deserve to be protected and cherished like anyone else,” Draco whispered fiercely. “Like _everyone_ else.”  
  
“No,” Harry said slowly, staring at Draco’s face. “Not like everyone. I don’t think you would ever feel this level of commitment for anyone else.”  
  
Draco paused, and the beak turned back into light and melted. He held out a shaking, clawed hand, and Harry grasped and held it, lightly kissing the knuckles.  
  
“So what’s needed to win your heart…”  
  
“Isn’t someone killing for me,” Harry said, smiling at him. “It’s knowing that someone _would_.”  
  
“You make no sense,” Draco said, but his voice was full of awe instead of fury. Harry reckoned that was a start.  
  
“I do,” Harry countered. “What matters to me is what you feel. Your reasons, your motivations, as well as what you do. And having the right to have a say in what you do. At least if it involves me,” he added, with a nod towards the Dursleys. “I wouldn’t try to interfere with your family or your potions or whatever else you want to do if it didn’t involve me in some way. If it does, I like to have a say.”  
  
Draco abruptly pulled his hand back. Harry eyed him in concern. He supposed his words had offended Draco again, but he honestly wasn’t sure how.   
  
But then Draco lowered his cupped hands in front of them, staring into them. Harry looked.  
  
There was a small circle of silvery, shimmering metal there, which looked almost like a mirror without a frame. Draco hadn’t conjured it, that Harry knew. In fact, the net had turned loose and slithering again, the way it wouldn’t have if there was any magic around.  
  
But Draco lifted the metal and offered it to him in silent awe.  
  
Harry took it through the net and turned it around. The edge didn’t slice his fingers, the way he’d half-expected. Instead, he saw his face.   
  
Only _not_ his face. His face with a shimmering aura around it and a confident expression Harry didn’t think he’d ever worn and a fire in his green eyes that made them blaze and catch the light like a tiger’s.  
  
“It’s a mirror,” Draco said softly. “Manifested from magic. The way I see you.” He paused. “Your first courting gift.”  
  
Harry dipped his wings and crooned before he thought about it. In the same moment, the net slid off Draco and dropped to the ground. It could sense when hostile intent was wholly absent, and it wouldn’t hold someone innocent.  
  
Draco stepped forwards. Harry leaned in to kiss him, and only barely remembered to lift his wand to tell the Ministry that they’d need Obliviators here. Although maybe not many, from the discussion he could hear behind them. Only Vernon and Petunia were insisting it was something unusual. The neighbors and police were already starting to credit a Muggle terrorist with an inventive weapon.  
  
Then Draco lifted his wings to flip them shut around Harry, and the words were cut off. In this silent, hazy, white-lit world, there was only the two of them.


	14. Falling into the Fire

“We need to talk, Harry.”  
  
Harry stretched slowly. He’d gone to bed early, and had got an hour’s sleep once he managed to convince Draco to go back to his own bedroom and the professors to leave him alone. But he didn’t know exactly how up he was to this conversation.  
  
Still, he would only worry Hermione—and probably Ron—more if he said he didn’t feel well. He sat up with a yawn and said, “All right. Ask away.”  
  
“Come here.”  
  
Harry blinked, fully awake now. “I don’t know that I’m supposed to leave the school grounds.” Professor Grunnell had certainly made her opinion clear to both him and Draco when they got back from their appearance at his relatives’ house, although at least she had split the blame equally between the both of them.  
  
“Yes, that’s why you were in the Ministry six hours ago. _Now,_ Harry.”  
  
 _Ron’s probably already told her that Draco’s my mate,_ Harry thought, as he wrapped himself in the kind of loose robe, dipping low in the back, that he needed now because of his wings, and got ready to Floo. _Otherwise she wouldn’t have that tone in her voice._  
  
*  
  
It was still disconcerting, once he’d gone through the uncomfortable Floo spin and landed in Hermione and Ron’s drawing room, to see her standing there with her arms folded and her glare harsh and direct.  
  
Harry scratched the back of his neck and resisted the urge to turn away from her eyes. “Is Ron here?” he asked, glancing around. Ron plainly wasn’t in the room right now, but he might have been in the kitchen, preparing something.  
  
“He went to bed. With a dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion, because he said otherwise he’d have nightmares.” Hermione smiled against her will, shaking her head, and Harry ended up smiling back. “He’s ridiculous.” Then she let out a breath that sounded as though it hurt her and straightened her back. “But it _is_ pretty ridiculous news that he told me.”  
  
“I’m a Veela and Draco’s my mate,” Harry said, with a shrug. Hermione looked at him oddly, and Harry realized that he’d made the movement with his wings, more than his shoulders. He flushed and continued. “I mean, it’s not that strange when you _think_ about it. It’s only strange because we thought nothing like it could happen when I went to the school.”  
  
“I’m still happier that you went to the school rather than choosing to have your wings cut off,” Hermione said, drifting over to sit down on the couch. She had a plate of biscuits waiting for Harry, which he took gratefully. “I think it would cause you too much pain, from everything I’ve been reading about Veela. But why are you and Malfoy mates?”  
  
“Compatible magic,” Harry said, and refrained from cramming the biscuits down his throat the way he wanted to, even though it was difficult. “It made bars of these different colors appear on our wings. The ones the Healers were arguing about?”  
  
Hermione nodded, listening intently.  
  
“Well, then I got bars _around_ the bars,” Harry said, and shook his head when she looked at him blankly. “Like this.” He spread his wings so she could see.  
  
“How lovely!” Hermione took a step forwards and laid her hands on one of the black bars that surrounded the blue ones.  
  
Immediately a strange feeling struck him. Harry actually had to stiffen his wings so he wouldn’t promptly close them. It was—as though he thought no one should be touching them except his mate, he thought in confusion.  
  
But Draco was far away, and Professor Helios had touched Harry’s wings to help him when he was first teaching him the proper stances, and Harry wanted his best friends to see. He held still, gritting his teeth through the worst of the sensation, until Hermione let go and went back to her couch. She actually sat on one of the biscuits without noticing.  
  
“So Malfoy has black stripes with blue bars around them on his wings?” she asked, with wide eyes. She only absently cast a spell that got rid of the crumbs and crumbled bits of chocolate from underneath herself. “And what caused them?”  
  
“He does, and I don’t know exactly why the magic decided we were compatible,” Harry said, gritting his teeth against the temptation to answer sharply. Hermione hadn’t done anything wrong.  
  
Except she _had_ , he only wanted his _mate_ to touch his wings—  
  
 _You are being ridiculous,_ Harry told himself. It was a Veela urge, but so was the one to kill people who had hurt your mate, and Harry had insisted that Draco not indulge that one. He folded his wings finally and continued, “After that, I started feeling comfortable in his presence. And with the way he touched me. And my allure affects him more than anyone else. He’s teaching me how to get control of some of my powers.”  
  
“What are the others?”  
  
Hermione, in the excitement of learning something new, didn’t seem to notice how Harry had hidden the colors from her again. Harry smiled at her—in gratitude, although she didn’t have to know that. “I can use what Draco calls the Shriek. My voice sharpens and knocks him backwards.” He frowned as he realized it had never once occurred to him to use the Shriek when Draco was attacking the Dursleys. Why not? It probably could have stunned him even more effectively than the net had.  
  
 _Because he’s my mate. And I wasn’t close enough to catch him in time, the way I was when I fell from the cliff. I don’t want him to get hurt._  
  
With a little sigh, Harry put away the silly instinctive part of himself, and focused on Hermione. “I don’t know any other special ones, at the moment. Draco said the Shriek was rare, though.”  
  
“I know it is.” Hermione nodded as though answering some private internal questioning. “So are you glad that you chose to keep your wings and stay a Veela?”  
  
Harry hesitated. Finally he said, “I wouldn’t want to be in pain. And when _Draco_ isn’t being a pain in the arse, it’s pretty great.”  
  
“But that’s not an unqualified recommendation,” Hermione said, frowning a little as if she had hoped to hear one.  
  
“No,” Harry said. “I don’t know where the changes are going to stop. And I don’t know if they’ll even let me be an Auror with wings.”  
  
“Of course they will.” Hermione’s eyes had a slightly frightening look in them now. “Or I’ll want to know why not.”  
  
Harry grinned. “Thanks, Hermione. But I think they might worry about me using Veela allure on innocent people. Or using Dark magic.”  
  
“Veela aren’t Dark by nature.”  
  
“No,” Harry agreed slowly. “But we can command people to confess their deepest secrets to us, and want to fall at our feet and profess undying devotion, and I’ve heard some ignorant people calling that Dark. What?” he added, because Hermione was beaming at him proudly.  
  
“You said ‘we,’” Hermione murmured. “Like you were a Veela,” she added, because Harry continued to stare at her without understanding.  
  
“Oh.” Harry shrugged his wings again. “I suppose I am becoming more that way. It’s just—I was always able to envision a future for myself, you know? Even when I thought there was a really good chance that I would die at the end of Voldemort’s wand. At least that was a kind of future. Not the one I wanted, just the one that was there. But what happens when all the visions are gone?”  
  
Hermione stood up and moved behind him. Her fingers were gentle on his shoulders, and Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head on her hand. She knew how to touch around his feathers instead of on them, which was good. Harry didn’t know if he honestly could have borne anyone but Draco touching his wings right now.  
  
“You’ll still have the life you want. I think Malfoy probably wants you to have that, not hold you back from it. Veela are deeply affected by the unhappiness of their mates. And you would be unhappy if you couldn’t be an Auror.”  
  
Harry nodded. Despite the press and the danger from Dark wizards and so on, he still wanted to be an Auror more than he wanted to be anything else. He wanted to help people survive the darkest terrors of their lives and go on, and especially the terrors that he’d coped with. Someone stalking them. Someone wanting to murder them for no reason. Someone trying to destroy their lives just because they were annoyed.  
  
The fact that he couldn’t see himself doing that as a Veela—  
  
Harry shivered. He would find a way past it, that was all, and into this vision.  
  
Hermione walked around in front of him again and patted his hand soothingly as she sat back down on the couch. “Do you think it would help to talk to Malfoy about this explicitly? Have you?”  
  
“A little bit. He knows now that I never wanted to be a Veela because I’m sick of fame, and I don’t _need_ fans falling over me even more than they already do.” Harry hesitated again, but in the end, he had to face up to this the way he’d had to face up to being a Veela. “We don’t get the _Daily Prophet_ at the school. What have they been saying?”  
  
“That you were in an accident that changed you.” Hermione shrugged. “That’s all anyone will confirm so far, with the Healers and Aurors keeping quiet. But since you stormed into the Ministry with wings this afternoon, I don’t think it will take people long to make the connection.”  
  
“Shit,” Harry mouthed quietly. Well, he had needed the net. And he had put up with lots worse. Things that weren’t even true.  
  
“They won’t let non-Veela into the school, though,” he said, thinking of something that made him cheer up. “Not just because of me. They wouldn’t want people falling victim constantly to allure. I _hope_ that means I’ll be safe for a while.”  
  
“And if not, Malfoy will protect you?”  
  
“He was going to _kill_ my relatives.” Harry shook his head. “I couldn’t let him do that.”  
  
“Just let me know if you ever change your mind. And tell Malfoy I’ll help.”  
  
Harry stared at her. Hermione gave him a little smile that didn’t conceal the ferocious depths beneath it.  
  
“I’ve thought for a long time that they got off too lightly. During the war, I understood why. You had bigger enemies to focus on. But now.” Hermione’s smile widened. “My only objection is that one person shouldn’t have all the fun.”  
  
“But you’re—”  
  
“If you say I’m not your mate, then I’m going to assume that you’ve gone deeper in your understanding of Veela culture than you’d revealed to me.”  
  
“You’re _moral_ ,” Harry blurted out.  
  
“Tell that to Marietta Edgecombe. They _still_ ,” Hermione said, with great satisfaction, “haven’t found anyone who could get the pimples off her face.”  
  
“Um,” said Harry, and hid behind the plate of biscuits. He wasn’t sure what to do with having someone else willing to kill for him. Or, well, maybe hurt, not kill. Hermione hadn’t said—  
  
But she had sure implied it, when she had told Harry that he should let her know if he ever changed his mind about killing the Dursleys. And she didn’t have the kind of vengeful Veela instincts that Draco’s willingness to kill the Dursleys could explain away.  
  
 _Maybe she doesn’t have vengeful Veela instincts. Maybe she just has vengeful ones._  
  
“I mean it,” Hermione added. “I don’t think you’ll ever change your mind, but stranger things have happened.” For an instant, her eyes lingered on his wings.  
  
“I shouldn’t be saying this,” Harry said, after he’d swallowed a piece of dried fruit stuck in his mouth. Hermione looked at him attentively. “But it really does make me happy when someone is _willing_ to protect me. Even if I’d never let them.”  
  
“Good,” said Hermione. “As long as it isn’t the same kind of happiness that Malfoy brings…”  
  
Harry gagged on a biscuit piece that he didn’t think had been there a moment ago, and Hermione laughed and swatted him on the back.  
  
“Good.”  
  
*  
  
“And, as you should all know by now, the right of a Veela to defend her—or his—mate is sacred.”  
  
Harry grimaced a little. Professor Testig’s Veela Mate Culture class had turned into a special presentation, suddenly, on the laws that defined the rights of mates to take revenge for each other. He knew exactly why that had happened. And Testig hadn’t even _tried_ to be subtle. She had been the first one to come investigate Harry and Draco yesterday to make sure they were all right, and the only one to say nothing, only studying them with a sharp expression on her face.  
  
Now, though, she was talking with relish about all the times in that past that someone had kidnapped a Veela’s mate and got killed for it, or broken a mate’s arm and been hanged (from a Veela’s claws) in consequence. Since this was all for his “benefit” anyway, Harry decided he might as well ask a question that was more beneficial for him.  
  
He raised his hand. Testig immediately broke off her latest gruesome story and nodded to him. “Yes?”  
  
“What if the harm isn’t happening right in front of the Veela?” Harry asked, keeping his voice syrupy with innocence. “What if it happened a long time ago? Does the Veela still have the right to take revenge for their mate?”  
  
Testig gave him a bloodthirsty smile. “I’m so glad you asked that, Mr. Potter. Statistically, of course, certain kinds of harm are more likely to happen when a Veela’s mate is a child. Abuse, for example, or neglect.”  
  
Harry just stared straight back and said quietly, “I had a case a month ago where a man found out his wife had been abused by her first boyfriend. When she was at Hogwarts, twenty years ago. He stormed the first boyfriend’s house and tortured him to death with the Cruciatus, and told us that he shouldn’t go to Azkaban because he was avenging his wife’s pain. We still put him in prison. And now his wife has to visit him there. I think she’s worse off than she would be if he’d never found out. That’s the kind of case that I’m always going to arrest someone for. You can’t decide it’s a good idea to use the Unforgivables just because you’re filled with righteous anger.”  
  
“Of course not,” said Testig.  
  
Harry stared at her, and she stared back, raising her eyebrows a little.   
  
“Not Unforgivables,” Testig continued. Harry felt Draco’s wing arching over his shoulders and tugging at him, but he didn’t lean against him, or look at him. Right now, he thought Testig deserved his whole attention. “Veela use their own instinctive magic, or claws and teeth. There’s a loophole in the laws for us. A treaty created when Veela first started to associate with wizards. The Veela of those times demanded it, or they would never have come forwards at all.”  
  
“Then they cared more about revenge than finding their mates among wizards.”  
  
“Professor Stone is a gifted teacher,” said Testig, in that polite kind of voice that suggested the exact opposite. “But she is wrong that everything important in a Veela’s life can be traced back to a mate.”  
  
“Sounds like this can be.”  
  
“It’s of the most vital importance to maintain our laws among an alien people—”  
  
“Who you can mate with,” Harry pointed out. He could feel frustration prickling at his skin, harder than the talons Draco was now driving into his arm. “Who you can be transformed from. Everyone keeps telling me that Veela and humans are so different, and I’m not human now because I have these instincts, and I need to just accept it. But it seems to me that you aren’t so different. You just want to do whatever you want without any kind of check from the law, and at the same time get mates from humans and be treated like humans.”  
  
“ _Harry_ ,” Draco hissed into his ear.  
  
“Honestly,” Harry went on, lifting a wing so that he could brush Draco’s hand away, “it sounds to me like you keep changing your definition of Veela. I shouldn’t think of myself as human because I’m transformed. But I should obey these little exemptions and loopholes in the law that Veela are so proud of having. Well, to me, you know what it seems like when you set up little exceptions and snicker to yourselves for having an excuse to literally murder other people? It sounds like a petty, _human_ thing to do to me.”  
  
“ _Harry_.”  
  
“You don’t think we should break the law?” Testig’s eyes were narrowed, little sparks of blue sometimes showing between the lids.  
  
“I’m a sodding _Auror._ Of course not.”  
  
“You would, perhaps, suggest that ancient treaties should be overturned because you don’t like them?”  
  
“It doesn’t matter how ancient they are, if they’re _stupid_.”  
  
“Someone who kidnaps or abuses a Veela’s mate,” Testig breathed, “is not innocent.”  
  
“Then you give them a proper trial, the way you would a Veela who was accused of using their allure on someone and raping them. You can’t just decide that some people get a proper trial and some people don’t. That’s not the way justice _works_. Unless you’re going to decide there’s one kind of justice for Veela and another for humans, and that’s apparently what you’ve decided.”  
  
“I am only explaining reality to you,” Testig said. “You should not blame me.”  
  
“But you think it’s praiseworthy for a Veela to act like a wild animal and disembowel someone.” Harry stood up and whirled away from the wing Draco tried to spread in front of him. “Why is that okay to do, but the Entrail-Expelling Curse wouldn’t be? You sound gleeful about the way that that one Veela you described killed all those people for being in the same room as her mate.”  
  
“If you are implying that I am—”  
  
“A vigilante. Yes. And stupid.”  
  
Testig threw back her head, while her wings flared up and around her. They formed a silvery circle that came down slowly, aiming like twin scimitar blades straight at Harry.  
  
“I can challenge you to a duel for that,” she whispered. “For the insult, for implying that I am not a good Veela. And I will.”  
  
Harry laughed. Apparently, that wasn’t the response anyone had expected, because Testig paused and all the other students, even Draco, who had moved up beside him, blinked.  
  
“Right, another rule no one bothers to explain to me until I trip over it,” Harry said, and moved his wings in the same gesture. It was surprisingly easy, as if it had been waiting for him to make. “Then I accept. And I think someone should remind you that I dueled Voldemort himself and _won_.”  
  
“This is not the kind of duel you’re used to,” Testig hissed back to him.  
  
“I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.”  
  
For an instant, she stared at him, and then she took wing, reminding him of a hawk as she swooped towards the doors of the classroom. The other students followed her.   
  
“She’s going to fight you right now,” Draco said, his voice dead. “Outside. And she’ll have the choice of weapons. Even if you get the choice of ground, and you can fight wherever you want and with any extra objects you want that aren’t weapons.”  
  
Harry shrugged, and reached out one hand to caress Draco’s cheek. “Don’t feel so bad. You tried your best to keep me from it. I’m the one who chose to go ahead.”  
  
Draco grabbed his hand. “But she could _kill_ you.”  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Harry winked. “Because you said that I get the choice of ground. And there’s nothing saying it had to _be_ on the ground, and nothing saying I have to fly with wings, either.”  
  



	15. Places in the Dance

“What weapons have you chosen?”   
  
Harry faced Testig across a wide-sweeping garden of blue flowers—ranks and ranks and ranks of blue flowers, all nodding along with the wind. He couldn’t really understand why Veela thought a duel was best fought in the middle of a garden of blue flowers, but then, he had accepted that he didn’t understand why Veela did a lot of things.  
  
“My wings,” said Testig. “My claws. Veela magic.” She smiled and extended her wings, banging them up and down as if she wanted the audience to admire their length.  
  
In the middle of the garden, on a stone circle that was the only place bare of flowers, stood Professor Grunnell. Harry crouched on one wall, and Testig on the other. At first Harry had been baffled why the flowers filled all the space, but then he had seen Grunnell soar to the circle, and he’d understood. The garden was only meant to be entered by people who could fly.  
  
 _By_ Veela, _Testig would probably say. Because humans are so different and inferior, and she doesn’t think Veela are people in the same way, but a better way._  
  
Harry raised his head. Testig was staring at him with her hands curved forwards, as if she couldn’t wait for her talons to appear. Harry thought she would probably either fly straight at him or leap off the wall and try to get above him.  
  
Grunnell nodded and turned to face Harry. “And what ground have you chosen, Mr. Potter?”  
  
There was a slight emphasis on “ground” that made Harry grin. They probably expected him to insist that they fight without flying. That would take away the power of Testig’s wings and the advantage she had over him because she was a Veela more experienced in flying.  
  
“The air, of course,” Harry said casually. “Aren’t we Veela? Aren’t we supposed to delight in flying?” He reached out and stroked his hands casually down the wall beside him, then added over the sound of the spectators murmuring, “But I don’t intend to be lonely up in the sky. I’ve chosen my addition. And Professor Testig is welcome to choose any additions she likes.”  
  
He scooped up the broom that he’d stopped by his quarters to get, and casually hopped onto it. The murmuring sounded now as though seven or ten hives of bees had been let loose among the flowers.  
  
“If you have a broom, then how can you use your wings in the way the rules of the contest dictate?” Grunnell took a step towards him as if she was really interested in hearing Harry’s answer.  
  
“Oh, I intend to use them as weapons if Professor Testig comes too close,” said Harry, and beamed at her. “I never said I could use my wand. But my broom comes with me. It’s the addition I want.” He turned and gave a little bow to Grunnell. “My mate told me that you were going to announce when the duel began. Could you do that? There were a few other things I wanted to do today.”  
  
Testig made a rattling, hissing noise that Harry imagined was the way a growl would sound if translated through a bird’s beak. He ignored her to beam amiably at Grunnell. She could do whatever she wanted. Harry didn’t intend to play by the stupid rules the Veela had set up, while still staying within them so she couldn’t accuse him of cheating.  
  
“Yes, well.” Grunnell looked as if she didn’t know who to cheer for. She turned and held out her wings, though, flaring them back and forth and bouncing silver light from them. “The duel will begin on the count of three, and continue until first blood is shed.”  
  
Harry saw the way Testig’s hands tightened on the stones of the wall. She probably intended to use her wings first, to hit him and hurt him without drawing blood.  
  
Harry looked benignly back at her. He had his own plans as far as that was concerned.  
  
“One!” Grunnell chanted, and other voices took up the count with her. Harry could see Draco standing among the crowd below, staring anxiously up at him. Harry winked and tilted his head back to estimate the angle of the sun. Yes, he thought he could rise into it easily.  
  
“Two!” Now half the crowd was shouting along, and Testig’s wings had unfolded to their full extent, trembling.  
  
“Three!”  
  
Testig sprang with a screech. The air seemed to blur around her, and a second later, Harry realized she wasn’t the only one flying at him. From somewhere, she’d summoned swans, enormous white birds with wings only slightly smaller than hers, and they looked as if they were going to converge on him and herd him like Bludgers.  
  
Unluckily for Testig and her birds, he’d had a lot of practice playing Quidditch.  
  
Harry whirled to the side and watched as the first two swans missed him. They could turn in the air, but not fast enough to catch up with him when he did that. Then Harry turned and flew up as high and hard as he could, aiming for the sun so he would be harder to see when he dived out of it.  
  
Testig left the swans behind as she soared after him. Harry heard the shutting and opening of her wings, like great scissors slicing the air, and he smiled over his shoulder and waited until he saw her aiming her left wing. She would pass close to him, and try to club him over the head and shoulders with it.  
  
She hadn’t transformed her hands into claws. That confirmed Harry’s suspicion that she didn’t want to draw blood quickly and end the duel.  
  
Harry turned so hard to the side that he heard something pop in his neck. But he proved his point. Testig missed him, and then had to pinwheel and drop because she’d had her wing aimed and cocked instead of flapping it. For a minute, she was stretched out beneath him, vulnerable, her wings beating forwards and shielding her head and arms against the assault she probably expected him to make.  
  
Harry ducked down, aimed his broom in precisely the right way, and kicked her in the arse with his right foot.  
  
Testig went pinwheeling even further down. Harry shot back up again and did a little celebratory dance through the sky, with his wings mainly beating to slow down the broom’s flight a little and make him look more “majestic” to the crowd gaping from below.  
  
 _Let’s remind them that Veela aren’t the only ones who can fly. And do it well!_  
  
Harry flapped once more and let himself dangle from the broom by one hand. He could see a flash of wings from below at that—probably Draco—and then a few other people holding the one who had wing-flashed back. Well, Draco was the one who knew the rules. Harry would have to count on him not interfering, either because of his own will or someone else’s.   
  
Testig’s swans were flying towards him again. This time, they had spread out in a wave, and it was going to be a lot harder to avoid them. While Harry was dealing with two of them, the others could swing in behind him and clip him on the head with a wing.  
  
 _Well, that would be what happened if I intended to stay still and wait for them to hit me._  
  
But he didn’t, and Harry proved it by swinging on his broom one more time and then letting go, soaring towards the swans.  
  
The nearest one sheared away from him. Harry was now confronting one that snapped and hissed at him, beak open so he was staring down its throat. Harry grabbed its neck and choked it for a second, hanging down beneath it as it frantically flapped to save itself.  
  
By the time he let it go, it was no more interested in fighting than the one soaring beneath him towards the garden was.  
  
The other two swans had peeled away and then proceeded to attack from opposite sides. Harry leaped out from between them, landed on his broom, and spiraled down to kick one of the swans in the arse. That one gave up, too, or at least its frantic flight away from him seemed to suggest that.  
  
The other one was either stronger, braver, or more loyal to Testig. It had one wing poised to deliver the kind of blow that Harry thought Testig had intended to use on him, and it didn’t look as though it was going to fall when it tried to hit him, either, the way Harry had assumed the others would.  
  
Harry let loose with the same harsh shriek that had stunned Draco when they fell off the cliff.   
  
It didn’t seem to have the same effect on swans that it did on Veela, but it _did_ startle this one and spoil its attack. It had to fly over him instead of trying to hit him, and then it was gathering strength and speed away from him instead of towards him.  
  
Harry looked around in a leisurely way for Testig. She was hanging about ten meters beneath him, hacking like she had something stuck in her throat. Harry smiled. “Shriek hurt you?” he called down.  
  
Testig stayed still long enough that Harry nearly went and checked on her. But he reminded himself that this was a duel, and she was far likelier to play some kind of trick on him than really be in need of his concern. So he stayed where he was.  
  
Testig abruptly unfurled her wings and came at him so fast that she’d covered a third of the distance before Harry could start reacting. And then she swung her hand forwards and conjured another swan right in between her and Harry’s broom.  
  
 _All right, this is going to be tricky…_  
  
Harry clamped his legs on the broom, pulled in his wings so hard that he sagged, and dived to the side. The swan’s wings still shook near his head, passing more closely than a lot of Bludgers had during Quidditch games. And Testig was still coming, hands outstretched now and turned into claws. Apparently she cornered better than a swan.  
  
Harry wasn’t sure she would stop at first blood, either.  
  
He barrel-rolled in front of her and fled, rising up and down in jagged patterns, and sometimes straight-climbing the way a Firebolt was better than any other broom at doing. Harry knew there were better brooms on the market now, faster ones, but he’d still refused to buy any other broom than a Firebolt when he chose one after the war.  
  
This, the ability to speed straight up at the clouds and not lose any speed when he did so, was one of the reasons why.  
  
Testig was still screeching and hissing behind him, although no longer so close. Harry turned, flew level for a second to let her catch up—and let Draco see he was okay—and then turned and straightened his shoulders.  
  
 _Let’s hope the new weight of my wings won’t throw this off too much._  
  
When Harry entered the dive of the Wronski Feint, the ground seemed like a patch of blue and grey and white, so far away as to be unimportant. And then it started speeding up towards him, and voices sounded in alarmed shrieks, and Veela dived out of the way. Harry laughed under his breath and got ready to pull up.  
  
Then something slammed into him from the side.  
  
 _Another bloody swan,_ Harry thought, as he tumbled and lost height and speed at the same second. The swan’s wing had hit him in the head this time, the strike he thought most of them had been aiming for, and his sight was blurry.  
  
He did see wings straining down below, Draco getting ready to fly to his rescue, and being held back by multiple professors.  
  
Harry shook his head. This was no worse than some of the hits he had taken in other Quidditch games, or while chasing criminals. He turned and flew back towards Testig, who had climbed until she was above him, silhouetted against the sun, in the position _he_ had hoped to be in.  
  
It didn’t matter. Harry still had no intention of losing this duel.  
  
When Testig began her dive, Harry rose to meet her. He saw how fast she came, and knew what the shock would be when they clashed.  
  
Someone else did, too. From the choking and shrieking and fluttering below, the professors were having to hold Draco back again.  
  
 _It doesn’t matter._ Testig had almost reached the halfway point between her original position and his. Harry was close enough now that he could see her hair flying behind her and her spread claws. She had finally changed her hands fully into talons. He reckoned she wanted to shed some blood and didn’t care anymore if that would bring about the end of the duel.  
  
 _Good_ , Harry thought, and tightened his hold on the broom. There was no way to turn aside from the crash, not now. The most they could hope for was to strike each other glancingly.  
  
As they came up to each other, Testig did turn a little to the side. Her left hand shot out, towards his ribs, while her left wing lifted and came down in one swift motion. She was trying to stab him through the side and clobber him over the head at the same time.  
  
 _How efficient,_ Harry thought in something close to admiration as he lay close to the broom, taking the blow of her wing on his shoulders. It hurt, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she missed him with her claws, just catching the outer edge of his robe and fraying some of the cloth. Nothing that couldn’t be mended with a simple charm.  
  
Testig gave a violent hiss and started to turn to the side, in the beginning of a corkscrew spiral that would carry her away from him.  
  
But that meant she was in the perfect position for Harry to get the boot in—literally. He poised his foot and then kicked so hard he felt an ache blossom in his leg at once.  
  
It had been worth it, though. Because Testig had turned into a place that left her wing vulnerable. Far louder than he heard even her cry of pain, he heard one of the delicate bones in the outer edge of her wing breaking.  
  
Testig’s wings drooped, and she began to fly towards the stone circle Grunnell had stood on to announce the beginning of the duel. Harry stooped after her, feeling like a hawk on the wing for all that _his_ wings were tucked closely to his sides and he had the broom alone to fly with.  
  
The duel still wasn’t over. Grunnell had said it wouldn’t be until someone drew first blood, and Harry had no idea what the proper proceedings would be for asking someone for a surrender.  
  
He came up behind Testig and kicked her in the arse again. She whipped around as best she could, hissing, but that crooked her wing at an angle that made her shriek again. Now she was whirling around like a leaf tossed by the wind. Harry assumed she was flying more by magic and muscles than feathers at this point.  
  
Harry leaned towards her and caught her wrist. For an instant, he held her gaze, too. Testig was staring at him with eyes so wide that Harry wondered if she had really expected to win the duel.  
  
 _Even once she saw me on a broom?_  
  
But maybe he was being conceited in assuming that everyone knew what a good Quidditch player he was. And the Veela were pretty isolated. She might never have followed any news on him that was less momentous than the news of the war.  
  
“Remember that I outflew you,” he said, in a low voice none of the people cheering and shouting on the ground would be able to hear anyway, “and I did it using _human_ methods.”  
  
Then he jabbed Testig’s claws into her own shoulder.  
  
She shrieked again as the skin tore, but didn’t try to beat him over the head with her wings the way Harry had automatically assumed she would. Maybe it _mattered_ to her, that her left wing was broken, and she didn’t want to make him angrier. She turned away and dropped in that wounded spiral to the ground instead.  
  
Grunnell, and maybe the garden, must have had some spell that would warn them when blood was spilled and someone won. She called up, “Mr. Potter is the victor! Please return to the ground.”  
  
Harry followed on the broom as slowly as he dared. He didn’t want to make Testig into an enemy. If she really obeyed Veela customs, then she should go on teaching him because he was a student and he needed to know the things she taught in order to be a good mate to Draco. And because there was probably a rule, once a fight was over, about not considering the matter settled.  
  
“Honor is satisfied,” Grunnell said loudly as Harry landed on the stone circle, bare of flowers, beside her. “Mr. Potter is the winner of the duel.”  
  
Harry had time for one smile, and one look around to try and see whether Testig was glaring at him, before Draco crashed into him. Harry caught his breath, a little, as one flailing wing hit him on the back of the head where the swan had, but then Draco gripped him and kissed him instead, and that was much more agreeable.  
  
“Never do something like that again,” Draco said, when he finally pulled back and stood in front of Harry with his wings on Harry’s shoulders. “ _Never_. I don’t care how much someone annoys you and how much you want to duel them. All right?”  
  
 _There is one difference between Veela and human society,_ Harry thought dazedly. People kissing like this in the middle of the Ministry, or anywhere else, would have been told to stop it, but here, everyone smiled indulgently at them. A few were even applauding.  
  
“All right,” Harry agreed, and leaned in to whisper. “Can I have another kiss as the reward for winning the duel, though?”  
  
Draco’s response was loud, enthusiastic, and unmistakable.


	16. Fussing and Courting

“I thought you were going to die when you kicked Professor Testig in the arse,” said Draco, and bent down in front of Harry to look him sternly in the face. “Promise me you’ll never do anything like that again.”  
  
Harry blinked at him. He was immersed in a huge tub of warm water, the one in Draco’s rooms. He had invited Harry to his suite, and utterly ignored the token protests Harry made. Since the bathtub was larger, set into the floor, and filled with sweet, steaming water the minute Draco tapped one of the faucets with his wand, Harry had given up objecting.  
  
“But I had to duel her,” Harry said, and tilted his head back, shivering, as he felt Draco’s clever fingers sink into his hair. “You said so. It’s in the rules.”  
  
Draco leaned forwards and rested his face against the back of Harry’s neck. “You didn’t need to duel her in a way that made it clear how you feel about her,” he whispered, his voice raising the tiny hairs on Harry’s nape in a pleasant way. Harry let his head almost droop into the water. “You don’t need to show you despise her.”  
  
Harry shrugged as best he could with Draco’s hands holding him down and his wings draped over the sides of the tub. They were resting in two shallow indentations that Draco had informed him smugly were built specifically for Veela. Harry didn’t see the need to be smug about it.  
  
“She could tell anyway, I think. There’s no use in keeping a secret that’s perfectly obvious.”  
  
“I still don’t want you to do that again,” Draco said, and his fingers dug deep, massaging something into Harry’s shoulders that seemed part soap and part oil and part potion. It certainly eased the knots that came with dodging around on a broom and getting smacked by swans. “Not laugh in the face of danger.”  
  
Harry sighed and knew what he said next would probably upset Draco. “But that’s what I do half the time, Draco. The only reason I survive as many battles as I do. I wouldn’t if I hung back and shivered.”  
  
Draco said nothing. Then he moved his face around to the side so Harry could see it. His expression was so unimpressed that Harry had to smile.  
  
“No one has mentioned hanging back and shivering,” said Draco stiffly. His fingers remained pliant, though, and Harry groaned a little as they got rid of some knots he hadn’t known were lingering there. “ _I_ only mentioned acting intelligently.”  
  
“With cunning, you mean, instead of bravery?” Harry shifted his right wing in its cushioned place. The tub was really remarkably made. He would have thought his wings would start aching if stretched out like this, the same way his arms would be if someone chained them above his head, but the height was wonderful. He could slouch and still have the wing balanced and taken care of.  
  
“Yes, and with tact. Neither you nor Gryffindors in general are very diplomatic.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes. “No, I suppose we aren’t.”  
  
For a few minutes, Draco went on working, taking care of him, while Harry drifted in his mind and his bath and felt an enormous vat of contentment pouring down on him. He wondered for a second why he hadn’t felt more embarrassed about stripping his robes off in front of Draco. He supposed it was partially his wings. They were so huge that Draco didn’t get more than a glimpse before Harry stepped into his tub.  
  
And there was also the odd feeling of _rightness_ that happened when Draco touched or kissed him. They were mates. It was only right that Draco see what he would possess someday.  
  
Harry’s eyes popped open at that. He didn’t always notice anymore when he did something that would have been impossible before the Veela transformation, but he was more prone to notice the unusual thoughts.  
  
“Can I do something?” Draco whispered.  
  
Harry turned towards him, a little unsettled—more than he would have been before he had that thought, at least. “Depends on what it is.”  
  
Draco was gazing at him with deep, soulful eyes and sticky, soapy fingers that made Harry relax a little. If he was affected by the Veela mate thing, Draco was at least as deeply affected. Maybe more, since he’d wanted the Veela transformation more than Harry had.  
  
“Can I groom your wings?” Draco shifted his glance to Harry’s wings and, Harry didn’t think it was his imagination, _trembled_.  
  
Harry blinked. He tried to think, but his head was full of steam. Or, well, there were very few worlds where a request like that would make sense.  
  
“You’ve already washed my hair,” he said. “What’s different about wings? Is it another special Veela custom?” He remembered Draco touching his wings before now, though, so that didn’t seem like it would be it, either.  
  
“There’s a difference between touching, or even washing,” Draco said, and his voice lowered and got breathy, “and _grooming_.”  
  
Harry swallowed. He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit what effect that breathy tone had on him, in case Draco took advantage of it later.  
  
But he couldn’t really see any reason to refuse. And he thought he might even know why Veela took it so seriously. He would be letting Draco touch and thoroughly clean a part of himself that was fragile, if the way Testig’s wing had broken was any indication.  
  
“All right,” he whispered, and held out his right wing a little, to make sure that Draco could get to it (and that it wasn’t under Draco’s knee).  
  
Draco moved down and spent a moment smelling Harry’s wing, which was strange enough that Harry ruffled his plumes uneasily. But Draco raised his head a second later and gave Harry a dreaming smile.  
  
“Like down,” he said. “You smell like down.”  
  
“Um. Shouldn’t I?” _It’s a_ wing, Harry wanted to say, but then Draco took the edge of it and began to run his fingers through the primaries, and Harry tossed his head back as a wave of pleasure overwhelmed him.  
  
He could see now why Veela were choosy about the people they let touch their wings. This was the most wonderful thing he had ever felt, could ever imagine. He turned his head to the side and cooed.  
  
Draco leaned down towards him and kissed him.  
  
Harry reached out and touched the side of Draco’s wing instinctively; Draco had been kneeling by the tub with them arched above his head so they wouldn’t get wet. But he didn’t seem to mind Harry rubbing them with dripping fingers. His eyes closed completely. He made a little cooing noise of his own.  
  
 _He’s been kneeling all this time on the hard tile,_ Harry thought. _I ought to make it more comfortable for him._  
  
It was the only sort of thought that would come to him, in the midst of the steaming, golden streaks of _goodness_ that pulsed through him as Draco carefully stroked and fluffed out the edges of his primaries. So Harry reached with a shaking hand for his wand and cast a Cushioning Charm on the tiles under Draco’s knees.  
  
Draco popped his eyes open and made the sort of inquiring chirp that Harry imagined coming from a bird who found another bird landing on its branch.   
  
_He’d be welcome on my branch any time._  
  
Those strange thoughts were the Veela. Harry knew that. But it wasn’t enough to keep him from spreading out the feathers on the edges of his wing so that Draco could touch them better, and then letting his head rest on the back of his tub. He didn’t need to open his eyes. He didn’t need to be alert. His mate would protect him.  
  
Harry didn’t know how many moments passed like that, in the steamy warmth, with Draco finding places between his feathers that Harry didn’t know existed, and soothing the itches and the aches there. He’d moved around the tub to start on the left wing before he spoke again.  
  
“Merlin, I love you.”  
  
Harry cracked his neck, he turned his head so fast. Draco didn’t look at him, though. He knelt with his head bowed—and Harry had to take out his wand to cast another Cushioning Charm, because his last one hadn’t moved with Draco—and fluffed and fussed and smoothed.  
  
“You don’t need to say that yet,” Harry whispered.  
  
Draco glanced at him. His face was utterly serene, not plotting or upset or even expectant, as if he was waiting for Harry to return the words. “Why not? That’s what I feel, and I think mates should always express what they feel to each other.” He reached out with a hand his nails had grown on, so that they resembled small, crooked claws, and scratched them through Harry’s hair. Harry found himself turning his head and opening his mouth in bliss. “Don’t you think so?”  
  
“We’ve been mated a week,” Harry finally got out. He was grateful that the thick bubbles and steam covered his body, so he wouldn’t feel painfully naked in front of Draco. Those words had made Draco even more naked to him. “You don’t have to say that.”  
  
“But it’s what I feel.”  
  
“Draco…”  
  
“I don’t understand why you’re so angry about it,” Draco said in the most reasonable of reasonable voices. “Most people would be happy to hear that someone loves them. But you were always contradictory, Harry Potter.”  
  
Harry winced and turned his wing around so that he could brush it against Draco’s face. That felt—not as pleasant, but smoother and cooler. Harry half-hoped it would act like a Sobriety Charm and wake Draco up. But Draco bowed his head and lipped at the feathers instead, and _that_ made Harry glad for the concealing bubbles for a whole new reason.  
  
“I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to say it back to you,” he whispered. “Or not as quickly, and that’s not fair. You deserve someone who loves you as much as you love them. Maybe even a different Veela mate.”  
  
That cleared Draco’s eyes a little, but he gave Harry a glance that was simply exasperated, not frustrated or furious. Then he shook his head, picked up a small bucket of cooler water to pour over Harry’s hair, and murmured, “I don’t need you to love me at exactly the same rate. I’m more Veela than you. I’ve been one longer. You cause me different kinds of heartache than I cause you. But just because two people aren’t exactly alike doesn’t mean they should abandon each other.” He paused, with his hooked small nails exactly above Harry’s left wing, and looked down at him with a raised eyebrow.  
  
Harry nodded immediately. He and Draco would probably disagree a lot, but he didn’t think Draco would ever deliberately hurt him.  
  
A second later, he was making entirely involuntary bubbling croons. Draco’s claws and his primaries felt better than Draco’s mouth. He sat up before he thought about it, hunching forwards and spreading his wings more so Draco could touch them all over.  
  
Every moment brought a new sensation, one better than the one before it, so Harry wondered in silent despair exactly how he was supposed to categorize them. The constant, fluctuating touch of Draco’s fingers to his back, to the middle of his wings, to the bars of color that marked them as compatible mates…  
  
Harry chirped, and Draco paused. “What was that?” he asked.  
  
Harry twisted his head, luring Draco’s hand down his neck and into the little hairs there. It was so _hard_ to get words out of his throat. Mostly, he wanted to chirp, and whir, and chuckle, and croon. He bowed his head further and further, and Draco gave a soft chuckle.  
  
But he _still_ didn’t scratch where Harry wanted!  
  
Harry finally had to take Draco’s hand and put it on the back of his neck. Draco started as if he had never thought that someone could want him to touch them there, and then increased the pressure of his nails.  
  
Harry went boneless. Only the cushioned places on the sides of the tub for his wings kept him from slumping under the water.  
  
“You _like_ that, don’t you?” Draco whispered, as if he was asking someone for confirmation of a secret. And he moved his hand a little.  
  
Harry made a long trilling sound that was embarrassing, if only because he hadn’t known he _could_ make any sound like that. But he was too busy thrilling in the delicate, almost ticklish sensation that trickled down the back of his spine from the touch of Draco’s fingers.  
  
“I knew you’d like that,” Draco whispered, breathless. “I knew you would.” And his hand moved again, and this time Harry thrashed in the water and twisted back and forth. He thought about reaching out to capture Draco’s hand and hold it still against him.  
  
 _But if Draco was holding still, then he couldn’t move this way,_ Harry thought, and had to twist around in the water to express his feelings.  
  
Draco was giving him an even brighter smile than before, and gentler eyes. Harry rose in the tub, braced as much on his wings as on his elbows, so he could kiss him.  
  
Draco gave a startled sound of his own, and his wings pinwheeled and flapped madly around him for a second. Then he was falling towards the water, and Harry had to catch him and cradle him against his chest, nipping at his lips, drinking his air.  
  
Draco’s wings had calmed down to slow, dreamy beats by the time they broke the kiss. Draco drew back and looked at Harry with silent, amazed eyes, his hand traveling again down the bars of color in Harry’s wings. This time, the pleasure was more muted, and Harry did nothing more than sigh and exchange a lighter kiss with him.  
  
“Don’t worry about not being able to say the words as soon as I did,” Draco whispered. “I think this shows that I can please you, and we’re more compatible than you might have feared.” He hesitated, his eyes passing over Harry’s face for a moment. “You’re not upset to be mated to me?”  
  
“No,” Harry said. _Not anymore_. They did have a match between the Veela parts of them. “Except for the parts of us that are human.”  
  
“I can still admire your skill at Quidditch that you showed off in the duel,” Draco said gently, trailing his hand over Harry’s cheek so that the claws didn’t break his skin. “And I think that we should talk a lot about Hogwarts and our history and our friends.”  
  
“You do?” Harry asked, turning so that he could crane his neck and more fully look into Draco’s eyes.  
  
Draco turned him back towards the end of the tub with irresistible, subtle strength, and began washing Harry’s hair again. “Yes,” he said. “Because if we’d both been born Veela and reared in Veela society, maybe it would be different, but as it is now, we share a lot that can’t be overcome by ignoring it.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes and slipped further back into the water, letting Draco work to find the parts of Harry’s scalp he hadn’t already washed. “But I don’t want to overcome my friends.”  
  
Draco snorted. “I didn’t mean that. I mean my antipathy to them. And your antipathy to mine.”  
  
“Who are you talking about?” Harry mostly didn’t think about the other Slytherins from Hogwarts anymore. Hell, he hadn’t thought much of Draco before they came together in the school.  
  
That thought seemed so wrong that Harry wanted to skim a wing down Draco’s side in apology. But Draco wouldn’t have any idea about what he was apologizing for, and so instead, Harry would save that for a time when it could make a difference.  
  
“Gregory, mostly,” said Draco, and with an effort, Harry remembered that Goyle’s first name was Gregory. “I wrote to him about you being my mate. He wrote back that he’d predicted it all along.”  
  
Harry snorted. “No, he didn’t.”  
  
Draco laughed and poured another handful of warm water over the top of Harry’s head, momentarily making him close his mouth. “I know, but that’s the kind of thing he likes to say since the war.” He hesitated. “He seems to think that if he can predict everything around him, he’d be able to see another war coming.”  
  
Harry reached back and took Draco’s hand. He could fairly say he hadn’t thought about Goyle a lot, but this sounded as if Goyle _had_ thought about how to live in the world after the war. That meant Harry could meet him as an equal.  
  
“Please tell me he hasn’t taken up crystal balls and Divination.”  
  
Draco laughed hard enough that he almost fell into the tub. Harry twisted around and kissed him again, and that kept them occupied until Harry had to pull back with his lip stinging.  
  
“Sorry,” Draco said breathlessly, shaking his wet hair back. “And then there’s Pansy. She’s never been sure if you’ve forgiven her for wanting to throw you to the Dark Lord. And Blaise and Daphne, although you don’t really know them…”  
  
Harry leaned further back, and back still, until the soft lapping of the water against the sides of the tub and the chatter Draco was feeding him about his friends made his world.  
  
Perhaps part of it was the lingering thrill of being touched, and the way Draco had spoken the words of love fearlessly, but he felt safely and simply happy.  
  



	17. Partner Flying

“I wished to speak to you, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry found himself standing taller than he had in years as he watched Testig move across her classroom towards him. His wings were raised, too, and he hissed before he thought about it, a sound that rattled in his throat like he’d swallowed bronze.  
  
Testig paused and studied him. For the first time since he’d met her, Harry could see no emotions in her face. No contempt, no understanding, no pity. Nothing but smooth skin and fixed eyes.  
  
Maybe thestare was a sign that she was afraid of him, after all, Harry thought. His wings bounced up and down, and he hissed again, and he saw, this time, the subtle motion of her throat as he swallowed.  
  
Harry managed not to toss his head and screech in triumph. He restrained himself to a calm, “Yes?”  
  
Testig looked off to the side and muttered something, then turned back and said, “As far as I am concerned, the duel settled all scores between us.”  
  
“The way it was supposed to,” Harry said. It was something Draco had explained to him in more detail after their bath together.  
  
Harry quickly banished thoughts of the bath. The last thing he wanted to do was blush in front of Testig. She might revert to her old self if she saw anything that she could pick on him for.  
  
“Yes.” Testig lifted her own wings. “Some people might say that I should seek revenge on you for the way that you treated my dignity during the duel.”  
  
“But not you,” said Harry, feeling the anger creeping back up his throat. He might honestly hiss if he waited longer. “Because you’ve given up all the grudges against me. Because you know that I can’t help not knowing Veela customs when I wasn’t raised as a Veela and never tried to transform into one.”  
  
Testig paused, with her face going blank again. “Yes,” she said, and her wings folded down against her shoulders. “Of course it would be unfair to blame you for that.”  
  
Harry grinned a little. He knew he probably shouldn’t push her during class, because that would mean she would have even more temptation of losing her temper and letting it affect what she taught him, but he couldn’t resist now. “What did you think I would _really_ do during the duel, when I had no idea of the rules and couldn’t fly as well as you?”  
  
“Lose.”  
  
Harry blinked and reared back before he thought about it, his wings beating. He grimaced and stilled them. Sometimes he despised how his wings gave away what he was feeling. Draco claimed it was natural and a means to let Veela know about each other so there wouldn’t be fights or misguided matings, but Harry just thought it was annoying. “But why would I, when I had other options?”  
  
“I didn’t expect you to know or explore those other options.”  
  
Harry shook his head slowly, eyes locked on Testig. “You know, you keep telling me how horrible it is that I don’t pay attention to Veela customs and so on, like I should have been doing it even before I changed—”  
  
“That would have helped you now.”  
  
Harry ignored that, too, and continued. “But you cost yourself something by ignoring the news outside your little Veela world, too. Otherwise, you would have known what a good flyer I was, and you either would have picked some other way to fight or not been all that surprised when you lost.”  
  
Testig cocked her head to the side and ruffled her feathers up so her wings surrounded her head like giant fans. Harry bit back a giggle that he knew would have been unfortunate, and looked as earnest and unaffected as he could. Testig put her hands on her hips and gave him a long look, then nodded.   
  
“Perhaps you are right. I do hope to see more of an effort in my class from now on, Mr. Potter,” she added, changing the subject fast enough that Harry stood there, blinking. “Since you understand the ways that you can subvert and work against the Veela rules, and you already have a mate, you should learn the subject I teach with ease.”  
  
And she gave Harry a little bow, with her wings flared out around her to make it more dramatic, before she left the room.  
  
 _I think that’s a good thing,_ Harry told himself as he slowly walked after her. _I mean, it’s good that she respects me now and I’m not going to have to fight her again._  
  
 _But I think she might use this to tease me. That’s…not great._  
  
*  
  
“We are going on to our next subject today,” said Professor Helios, turning in a slow circle with his wings raised as if he wanted to show off the bars of color on the undersides that meant he was mated. “Flying in pairs.”  
  
The young Veela, Lily, who had been Harry’s partner in the beginning class, immediately raised her hand. “But how can we do that if we’re not mated?” she asked in a faintly horrified voice.  
  
“You don’t always fly with your mate,” said Helios, and reached out with one wing to touch the wing of a female Veela standing next to him. Harry supposed she must be an advanced student, because she nodded and moved around to face him. She had silver hair and blue eyes, like most of the Veela, so Harry wasn’t sure if he’d already met her. “We also fly in battle and to create beauty. Like this.”  
  
He lifted from the floor like a huge butterfly, so simply and naturally that Harry was left to blink at his back, not anticipating the movement. The other Veela followed him, and they swooped and swirled around each other. Harry had to blink and lift a hand over his eyes. Even though they weren’t outside, the lights of the classroom flashed from their hair and wings like sunlight from polished silver.  
  
They _were_ beautiful in flight, Harry had to admit, even as he stared at them and resisted the urge to gape. Helios turned to the right, and the Veela woman turned to the left, complementing him, making it look for a second as if the two of them were two halves of an enormous wheel. Then Helios turned and dived towards the floor.  
  
Harry realized he was holding his breath in anticipation of the Veela woman following Helios, and making some sort of twin pattern, or maybe a rainbow one. Instead, the Veela woman held out her hands in front of her, arms exactly straight, voice moving in a soft chant.  
  
Silver sparks cascaded from her fingers. Harry found himself tensing reflexively, thinking they were going to turn into a swan, and then relaxing as the sparks turned into a tensely hovering bridge instead, shooting out like silver ribbons to coil around Helios’s ankles.  
  
Helios turned, smoothly revolving in mid-air, and held out his own arms. The sparks broke in two, the ones coming from the woman’s right hand staying around his ankles, but the ones from her left hand moving to encircle his wrists.  
  
The class gasped and clapped. Harry found himself doing the same, although he used his hands instead of his wings. It still didn’t feel natural to bring them forwards like that and slam them against each other.   
  
But Helios and the Veela woman didn’t turn around at the soft applause, or the loud sound that Harry’s hands made in the middle of it. They spun and danced opposite each other, hands and ankles bound, singing in high-pitched voices that Harry only now heard. Had the chanting turned into _that?_ It was so high-pitched it didn’t even sound like birds, more like bees singing or someone running their fingers along the edge of a wineglass.  
  
 _Not that they’d probably like it if I compared them to that. It’s too Muggle for that—_  
  
The chains of sparks suddenly broke, and the Veela woman dived down to join Helios after all. He spun around in circles, holding his arms around her in a mostly-open ring but never touching her, while the woman turned on her heels in midair, constantly hovering, her wings beating in hard, complicated patterns Harry had never dreamed of achieving.   
  
It lasted until Harry thought his lungs would hurt from holding his own breath; then the Veela woman landed with a hard bump on the floor. Helios followed her down, still not touching. He lowered his arms and gave a series of gasps of his own, head bowed, hands braced on his knees, until he looked up and smiled at the rest of the class.  
  
Harry noticed that he still didn’t try to speak until he got his breath back, though.  
  
“Thank you, Maggie.” Helios inclined his head to the Veela woman and moved back a step for a deeper bow. Their wings still didn’t touch one another’s, Harry noticed. Maybe that was a special thing that was reserved for when you flew with your mate. “Now, the rest of you.” He faced Harry especially and looked at him. “It’s harder when you have a mate _and_ you’re a new flyer. There are instincts in you that only want you to cooperate with your mate.”  
  
“And what’s my mate’s reaction going to be like?” Harry muttered.  
  
Helios stared for a second, then waved his hand. “Oh, Mr. Malfoy sought to become a Veela of his own free will, which means he knows many more of the rituals and customs. The way he knew about the duel,” he added pointedly, when Harry looked at him. “He’ll understand.”  
  
Harry privately thought that Draco was less likely to “understand” when it came to his mate flying with someone else, but stayed silent.  
  
“Now, Harry and Lily, I think,” said Helios. “Arguably you’re the more experienced flyer, Harry, but this is with wings and not brooms. And Lily’s inexperience means that she won’t feel as much like a potential mate.”  
  
 _She’s less likely to make Draco jealous,_ Harry translated in his head, and turned with a faint smile to face Lily Gamble. He could wish she didn’t have the same name as his dead mother, but that wasn’t her fault. “Ready?” he asked.  
  
“No,” she whispered.  
  
Harry had to smile. No, he didn’t think she was, but then, neither was he. And if he didn’t create some kind of beautiful pattern with Lily, then Draco had even less reason to get jealous.  
  
He held out his wings. “Let’s not try any of the tricks they did,” he said. “Let’s just try to fly and stay within a few meters of each other, okay? That would be good enough for me. I’m not used to flying with a partner.”  
  
“Even in Quidditch?” Lily looked at him in a way that made Harry certain _she_ had heard he was good at Quidditch.  
  
“No.” Harry shook his head and smiled at her. “I was a Seeker, and the Seeker has to dodge the Bludgers. The most I could rely on was our Beaters being good enough to hit them all away from me!”  
  
Lily laughed softly, and relaxed with a flex of her wings. “All right. Do you want to take off first, or should I?”  
  
“You should make every effort to take off at the same time,” interjected Professor Helios, who had paused behind them.  
  
“But not until we’re more experienced flyers,” said Harry blandly, making Helios look at him. “I mean, we would make things look ugly until we were really good at it, with some more practice. Isn’t our purpose to assist in creating beauty?”  
  
For a moment, Helios’s eyes were so bleak that Harry found himself tensing, his wings bearing down against his body. He knew he would have to defend himself if Helios attacked.  
  
But then Helios raised his eyebrows a little, and nodded, and something like a faint smile skittered over his mouth. “A good justification, if nothing else, for your actions, Mr. Potter,” he said quietly, and went on.  
  
“I’m glad you stood up to him. I don’t think I would have wanted to try _anything_ like he and Maggie did at first!”  
  
Harry laughed at her and spread his wings, making a half-circle because it was the simplest thing to do and wouldn’t intimidate Lily. “Neither would I! Come on.”  
  
*  
  
“I heard you flew with someone else today.”  
  
Harry blinked and glanced up. There was a tone in Draco’s voice that he’d never heard before, and didn’t fit with the quiet they’d both experienced, drowsing in the thick shadows of Draco’s room. He had a huge window that admitted enough sun to warm up Harry’s feathers. He was starting to understand why Veela enjoyed sunbathing in an entirely different way than humans.  
  
And Draco hadn’t said anything about Professor Helios’s lesson for the entire time that they’d been lying in his room and now and then touching wings and sunning their feathers. Harry wondered what had brought it to mind now.  
  
He rolled on the bed and sat up. Draco continued to lie still with his eyes closed. Harry frowned at him. Draco didn’t open his eyes.  
  
And he didn’t speak again, either. Maybe Harry had only imagined the upset tone in his voice. Maybe he didn’t care that much about Harry and Lily flying together, and it was just something he wanted Harry to know he knew about.  
  
Then Draco turned his head and opened his eyes, and Harry flinched back from the light gathering in his gaze, like the light in the gaze of an eagle getting ready to dive on prey. No, Draco wasn’t upset. He was _jealous_.  
  
“Did Professor Helios tell you that partner flying is only reserved for mates?” Draco whispered. He knelt up, his wings spreading out around him, a brilliant silver glitter leaping from the primaries. Harry had to wince and turn his head away, which was less than ideal for a confrontation.  
  
“It can only be certain kinds of partner flying, then,” Harry snapped. “Because he flew with a woman who isn’t his mate, a woman named Maggie, and he paired up a bunch of different people in the classroom. They can’t _all_ be mates.”  
  
Draco remained still for a moment. Then he moved forwards on his knees. Harry heard him doing it, and the aggressive rustle of his wings around him. Harry continued to keep his eyes closed and his head bowed. He didn’t want his eyes assaulted by the light springing from Draco’s feathers.  
  
“Harry, look at me.”  
  
It took some courage, but Harry managed. Draco reached out with a hand that had grown short, soft talons and took his chin, turning it back and forth as if looking for marks of lies or stains that Lily or Professor Helios might have left.  
  
“You don’t feel anything for this woman you flew with?” Draco traced delicate fingers around the edges of Harry’s eyes, and Harry shivered a little. The touch was gentle enough to tickle, but that wasn’t the main reason. He knew that, two days ago, he wouldn’t have trusted Draco enough to let him do this. Their time together in the bathtub and the kisses after the duel had helped a lot.  
  
“I feel sorry for her. She’s so young, and she doesn’t understand even as much as I do.”  
  
Draco paused. “That’s strange. There were no other accidental transformations who entered the school recently.”  
  
“Well, maybe she wasn’t as prepared for it as some of the others, then,” Harry had to concede. “But, well—she needs help, and she has the same name as my mum. I can’t help but feel sorry for her.”  
  
Draco’s wings flared open and fell back on the blankets, making him look as if he was covered in a huge shawl from the waist down. Then he nodded slowly and muttered, “I couldn’t believe it when someone told me that Professor Helios was having you practice partner flying.”  
  
“I don’t understand why, though,” Harry took the chance to say. “He was doing a lot more complicated stuff than Lily and I could ever _hope_ to, and it was with a woman who wasn’t his mate. So why would he teach us something that was—inappropriate?” It was the best word he could come up with, when he didn’t know how much of a crime this was by Veela standards.  
  
“It’s not really inappropriate,” Draco said, when he appeared to have calmed down a little.  
  
Harry stared hard at him. “Then you don’t have any right to get jealous, do you?”  
  
Draco sneered at him. “Don’t talk to me about _rights_. It’s appropriate to fly with Veela who aren’t your mate when you’re in battle, or creating beauty. But you should only fly with your mate for pleasure.”  
  
“And what about when you’re in a class?”  
  
Draco scowled at the wall.  
  
“Draco.”  
  
“Fine,” Draco muttered. “It’s not inappropriate. But I was waiting for _you_ to tell me about it, and…” He hesitated.  
  
“And what?”  
  
Harry wondered if he was being too confrontational when he saw Draco wince, but frankly, he couldn’t care right now. He had to get this out in the open between them, and know exactly what the boundaries between them had to be, if he was going to be a good mate for Draco.  
  
“Fine,” Draco said again. “Professor Helios told me outright that he doesn’t know how strong our bond is. So he’s going to be testing you by putting the two of us in situations that skirt the boundaries of propriety and seeing how we react.”  
  
Harry choked a little. Then he said, “Well, I’m glad you told me that. It wouldn’t have been a good sign if you’d kept it to yourself. That would have said you trusted him more than me.”  
  
Draco glanced at him with shimmering, vulnerable eyes. “But you didn’t tell me about partner flying.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “You didn’t ask me about Professor Helios’s lesson, and I don’t think Lily and I did it that well, even though we tried. It didn’t occur to me.”  
  
Slowly, Draco nodded and reached for Harry with a wing again. Harry nuzzled his cheek against it and chirruped when Draco would have withdrawn.  
  
“So we’re okay,” Draco breathed, as though he was stepping out on a wobbly plank over water.  
  
“We’re okay,” Harry repeated, and touched Draco’s cheek. He kept his fingers there until Draco kissed him.  
  



	18. Visits From Mad Healers

“Auror Potter. I’ve finally got through to you.”  
  
Harry opened his eyes and rolled over at once with his wand in hand. He’d got a few owls in the last week that called him Auror Potter, but no one who did it face to face. Draco always used his first name, his friends did too when they Flooed him, and the teachers used a mixture of “Mr. Potter” and “Harry” depending on how close they felt to him.  
  
 _Or maybe the way the wind is blowing today._ Harry kept getting it from Professor Grunnell even though all she had done was welcome him to the school and teach him the same things in class that she taught everyone else.  
  
His Floo connection was lit and open, because of course it was. Harry had wanted to leave it open in case something happened to Hermione or Ron or another of the Weasleys during the month he was here that they needed to tell him about immediately. But he was starting to think he should just shut the stupid thing. At least it would keep people from using it to contact him when he didn’t want them to or sneaking into his rooms.  
  
“Auror Potter,” said Healer Kilhoun, and leaned forwards and lowered her voice a little as though she assumed Harry slept with some sort of guardian on his virtue who would come storming into the room the instant they heard voices there. “I’m so glad I managed to reach you. I was afraid someone else would before I did.”  
  
Harry blinked. That _did_ sound like something had happened he had to know about, although not to any of the Weasleys. “Is there bad news from the wizarding world?” he whispered, and sat up, keeping the sheet tucked in around his waist.  
  
That impulse prickled against his skin, and he paused for a moment. He wouldn’t have hesitated to appear in front of a Healer without a shirt before. And his wings could close around him and hide most of his skin if he was modest, anyway.  
  
But just now, he felt as though no one should see or touch his chest, even if old scars were the most embarrassing thing they’d see. That was for his mate.  
  
 _Stupid Veela thoughts,_ Harry thought, and focused on Kilhoun as she nodded and said, “Very bad news.”  
  
Harry breathed in smoothly, then exhaled, reaching for the “Auror calm” he’d been taught to comfort people who didn’t yet know they’d lost loved ones to a murder or accident. “All right. What is it?” He made his voice soothing, too, because people who were excited and yelling weren’t the most coherent witnesses.  
  
Healer Kilhoun leaned towards him again. Even green from the light of the flames, she looked somber.  
  
“Healer Veraz went to your superiors and convinced them,” Healer Kilhoun whispered with all the solemn air of a secret, “that the stripes on your feathers were just ordinary blue.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes. Then he spent a moment breathing through his nose, so he could preserve that Auror calm and not simply scream at Kilhoun until she disintegrated like the nightmare she’d just become.  
  
“Auror Potter? Are you listening to me? We could have a serious situation on our hands. If Veraz manages to convince them that you’re an ordinary Veela transformation instead of an unusual one, then they might cut some of our funds to study forced transformations.”  
  
Harry opened his eyes and looked at the flames above Kilhoun’s head and around the sides of her cheeks. It was the only way he could even _imagine_ remaining calm right now. He said, with emotions that he clamped down on, “You know my transformation was unusual. You saw it and studied it yourself. All you have to do is let some of the Aurors look at your notes.”  
  
“But then Velaz would steal them,” Kilhoun protested. She shook her head, and leaned towards him again. “No. I need a feather from you, or even better, a personal testimony. Can you come to the Ministry with some proof that the stripes on your wings are cerulean?”  
  
Harry avoided screaming by thinking about how it would probably bring Draco flying into his room, certain that he was being murdered, and the last thing Harry wanted to do was disturb Draco’s sleep. He also avoided it by looking away from the fireplace and speaking in a light voice. “You wouldn’t get the proof that you need, anyway. My stripes look different now.”  
  
And he spread his wings and exposed the black bars around the blue ones to Kilhoun’s eager eyes, even as he thought that he should keep them close and tucked down. No one but his mate deserved to look at his naked chest, and no one but his mate deserved to look at his mate bars.  
  
 _Everyone sees them every day._  
  
 _But they’re other Veela, with the hope of mates of their own. It’s different._  
  
Harry clenched his teeth and spread his wings to his widest span. He knew where those thoughts came from now, and he wanted to work with them, not against them—when he was with Draco. But he also wanted to keep his head and know that he had the means to send nosy Healers packing if he had to.  
  
Healer Kilhoun gaped at his wings, then leaned back in the fireplace and shook her head a little. “What makes those different colors appear, I wonder? Does it have something to do with the intensity of the cerulean? Or feather growth since you arrived at the school? There can be no doubt that your wings are fully-grown in now, if they weren’t when you were still under our care—”  
  
“The black bars means that I have a mate,” Harry said, trying hard not to clench his teeth so he wouldn’t scream in frustration. “That’s _all_ they mean. My mate and I have compatible magic. That’s what it means. You don’t have to come up with any theories about feather growth or different colors.”  
  
Kilhoun ignored him, frowning at the largest of the black bars until Harry had the urge to tuck his wing against his side to hide it. “But I wonder what that means? That one? It has a curve to it. It seems to follow the edge of the wing. I wonder…”  
  
“I told you what it means.” Harry leaned forwards and spoke both slowly and loudly. “I have a mate.” He knew the individual black bars didn’t have different meanings. It was the sort of thing both Testig and Draco would have delighted in telling him, so it wasn’t true.  
  
“And it does change the color of the original stripes.” Kilhoun tapped her finger against her teeth. “I never heard of a Veela having two colors before.” She gave Harry a smile that she probably meant to be comforting instead of frightening, but Harry recoiled anyway, it was so full of _enthusiasm_. “You might be even stranger than we’ve been led to believe, Auror Potter! Please come to St. Mungo’s as soon as you can for some more tests.”  
  
“Did you _hear_ me?” Harry demanded. He thought he knew what was happening—the same way people would ignore werewolves when they tried to appeal for their rights—but he had never thought it would happen when Veela were so like humans and had that allure. “I _know_ what it means! I don’t need to come in for more tests!”  
  
“You must have misunderstood. I’ve never heard of a Veela having more than two colors befo—”  
  
Harry did what he should have done in the first place, and waved his wand to close down the Floo connection. Hearing Kilhoun’s voice break off in mid-word was so great a relief that he dropped straight down to the pillows with a huff and sprawled in the middle of his spread wings.  
  
He had never thought that someone was capable of so _literally_ ignoring a magical creature’s requests for them to shut up and stop. Why would they be? Magical creatures who could speak—and who didn’t spend all of their time apart from humans, the way the centaurs did in the Forbidden Forest—should be able to make themselves heard.  
  
 _Not if the human doesn’t want to listen._  
  
Harry nodded and sat up. This time, he cast Floo powder into the fire and waited until an image of Hermione appeared. It was early in the morning, but he knew she wouldn’t care much about the time given what had happened.  
  
Sure enough, Hermione sounded alert when she appeared in the fire. “Harry? What’s wrong?”  
  
“I just had my first taste of having someone ignore everything I was saying because I’m a Veela,” said Harry, and saw the way that she smiled, like a fox getting a bite of something small and crunchy. “I mean, it was one of the Healers who first saw me when I transformed, which doesn’t argue _well_ for their sanity, but—”  
  
“It makes you feel small,” Hermione interrupted, as though she was reading from a book. “It makes you feel as though everyone is standing there and ignoring you even as they take other people seriously.”  
  
“Yes, exactly,” said Harry, and felt his wings relax. Maybe his Veela instincts didn’t want him showing the black bars on his wings only to people they perceived as threats, because he felt perfectly comfortable sitting up in front of Hermione with no sheet on. “I don’t know if we can hit the Healers with anything legal, but there has to be _something_ we can do.”  
  
“How did they contact you? By owl?” Hermione was already rustling around, from the sounds of it, probably pulling down parchment and a quill.  
  
“No, by Floo,” said Harry shortly. “Somehow Healer Kilhoun got access to my Floo connection. I mean, I know it was only because I had it open, but I didn’t really think anyone from the Ministry or St. Mungo’s could just Floo me.”  
  
Hermione looked up with a little chuckle. “You didn’t give her permission? You didn’t write her a letter that said she could treat you that way or anything?”  
  
“No, of course not. Why would I want to listen to a lot of Healers who only wanted to argue about the color of the stripes on my wings?”  
  
“The color of your what?”  
  
“ _Exactly_ ,” said Harry, with a wave of his hands.  
  
After a moment of staring, Hermione evidently decided that she didn’t need to know all about that, and only shook her head and went back to writing. “There are laws about Healers and members of the Ministry contacting Veela when they sojourn among their own kind,” she said in satisfaction. “They were started long ago to keep infatuated boys from bothering Veela women, but they’ll work just as well for your case. There’s nothing in the laws that say the person contacting you has to be male, or in love. If you felt bothered, that’s enough.”  
  
“But why would it matter if it was by Floo or owl?”  
  
“Floo’s considered more invasive under the law,” said Hermione, twining a frizz of hair around one finger. “And if you’d sent them an owl first, of course they would have your permission to contact you. Or they could pretend they had it, anyway. But this way…we’re going to give her _so much trouble,_ Harry.”  
  
Harry could grin back, and remind himself of the scary side of Hermione he’d seen when he visited her the other day.  
  
It seemed he would need to get used to having scary people on his side. They were there whether or not he wanted them to be.  
  
*  
  
Harry reached out a hand in curiosity as he watched the owl winging towards him as he and Draco walked to the dining hall for lunch. He wondered if it was Healer Kilhoun writing with an apology. Maybe Hermione had confronted her already.  
  
But when the owl landed on his arm and held out its foot, the letter it bore turned out to be from Ron.  
  
 _Mate, what in the world did you say to Hermione? She’s been tearing around the house this morning cackling, and she actually called the Ministry and begged a few hours’ leave from this meeting she was supposed to have. She’s too busy to tell me much beyond “Veela” and “Healers,” and I tried to Floo you but you weren’t in your room. You have to tell me!_  
  
“Good news from Weasley?” Draco asked, moving up to Harry’s back and touching him on the nape of his neck and the ends of his hair with one wing.  
  
Harry sighed and canted his head back until the whole back of his neck was resting on the edge of Draco’s wing. “Yes. Sort of. I told you about the Healer and Hermione.”  
  
“Yes.” Draco hissed the word. He was as vengeful as Hermione, but he favored “more direct methods,” as he had called them when Harry asked him to explain. Then Harry had had to persuade him out of flying to the Ministry or St. Mungo’s and ripping Healer Kilhoun’s face off.  
  
“Well, Hermione’s too busy to tell Ron what’s going on. Or enjoying the secret. So Ron owled me to find out.”  
  
Draco chuckled, low and vicious. “I think you should tell him. He’s closer to the Healer than I am, and he can punish her without killing her.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t have the same kind of stake in it that you and Hermione do. He wouldn’t punish her. I’ll write to him after lunch.”  
  
He continued walking for a minute, and then realized he was walking alone. He turned around and frowned at Draco. “Are you coming?”  
  
“Yes.” Draco followed him slowly, his head cocked as if he literally wanted to study Harry from a new angle. “You really think he wouldn’t go after the Healer to punish her?”  
  
“Why would he?”  
  
“Why _wouldn’t_ he? If he doesn’t, then he’s not much of a friend.”  
  
Harry felt as though someone was pulling at the feathers in his wings, making them stand on end. “Listen,” he said. “You just shouldn’t say that about Ron. We’ve _earned_ our friendship, okay?”   
  
It wasn’t just the troll and the Horcrux hunt and all the other things in between that Ron had been there for. It was training as Aurors together, and the way that people had tried to separate them after the war, either because they wanted to date him, or date Ron, or because they believed someone like Ron Weasley wasn’t “worthy” of the celebrity they thought of Harry as being. It was one of the main reasons Harry hated admiring attention. Sooner or later, other people would decide they knew what was best for him, and that included picking his friends.  
  
“Sorry.” Draco blinked and looked at Harry as if it really did surprise him that insults to Ron would bother him.  
  
“He wouldn’t punish her,” Harry said, smoothing down his wings and resisting the urge to preen them with his nose as Draco sometimes did. There was such a thing as being _too_ bird-like. “He would laugh, though. That’s one reason I want to write.”  
  
“Because it’s so _amusing,_ people stalking you and ignoring you,” said Draco, leaning over Harry and using his own fingers to preen Harry’s feathers. Harry sighed and dropped his head forwards a little. For once, he was grateful for Veela customs. The parade of people passing them for lunch flapped over or walked around them, paying no attention.  
  
“I like making people laugh,” Harry said, shrugging and starting to walk again. “Whether or not it’s personally amusing for me.”  
  
Draco seemed to be thinking about that, and he didn’t say much during lunch, only grunting a little when Harry asked him if he wanted more cheese or a different kind of bread. When Harry finally waved a wing in front of his face, though, Draco caught the tip and stroked it once before letting it go. Harry had to work to swallow back an inappropriate response.  
  
“There’s something you could do to make _me_ laugh,” Draco said.  
  
“What? And don’t say it’s letting you at Healer Kilhoun,” Harry added, before that option could come up again. “Because I would _still_ say no.”  
  
Draco pouted and ducked his head, but shook it, too. “No. I wouldn’t ask you that.” He hesitated some more, and Harry ate most of a pile of crisps before he started talking again. “I want to know if you’ll come with me on a courtship visit.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“The Manor.”  
  
“If we can stay away from the cellars and other areas that have bad memories associated with them,” Harry said, and had to pause to blink at the look of dawning wonder on Draco’s face, as if he had never thought that he would get a chance to visit there with Harry. “Then sure.”  
  
Draco seized Harry’s hand and kissed it. Harry closed his eyes and trilled in pleasure, and Draco chuckled.  
  
“Then,” Draco said, pushing back from the chair and standing with a bow made a lot more dramatic by his wings, “excuse me. I have to go and make the Manor ready to be seen by a potential mate.”  
  
“What about your afternoon classes?” Harry called after him. At the very least, Draco had History with him and a class in mastering allure that Harry wasn’t advanced enough to be in yet.  
  
Draco glanced over his shoulder, over the shining curve of one wing, and pinned him with a stare. “What do you think I consider more important?” he asked. “ _Really_?”  
  
Harry sat back with a pleasant shiver and watched with a smile he couldn’t help as Draco made his way out of the dining hall. Some things about Veela were still ridiculous, like most of the thoughts he’d had when confronting Kilhoun, but at least there was a lot he _liked_.  
  



	19. A Courtship Visit

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor.”  
  
When Draco bent over in front of him, his wings first spreading out as though they would touch the sides of the gates and then falling like giant palm fans to the ground, Harry had the urge to laugh. But only for a moment, until Draco straightened and posed as if framing himself in the gate.  
  
Then he saw the fire in Draco’s eyes. It was like the light glinting off a sword, and Harry swallowed and held out a hand. Draco took it and bowed over it. If he flicked out his tongue to touch Harry’s palm, the way Harry thought he had for a moment, it really was too faint a touch to feel.  
  
“Thank you for coming,” Draco said, and waited until Harry had edged past him, sideways because of his wings. Then he fell in behind him as Harry walked slowly up the curving gravel path towards the front of the Manor. Draco was almost prancing, his wings fluffed out like a peacock’s.  
  
It was still a little amusing, but Harry was feeling something else stir slow and heavy through him. He remembered the mirror that had materialized as the first courtship gift, and the way he looked in Draco’s vision.  
  
 _This is for me. He wants to be impressive and get his house ready and show off his wings for_ me.  
  
It struck him differently, for some reason, than the stupid showy things that other people had always done to get his attention—hell, the things he could argue _Draco_ had done back at Hogwarts. Maybe it was just because he was a Veela now, and had to have some instincts that were pleased by that sort of thing.  
  
Or maybe it was because Draco looked protective and smug and proud and apprehensive all at once, and most of the people who tried to appeal to Harry were only smug.   
  
The doors of the Manor floated open as they neared, reminding Harry of the way Draco’s wings had moved. He glanced at Draco and raised his eyebrows, tilting his head a little in question.  
  
“There’s a little enchantment I can use,” Draco said. “Veela magic. I wouldn’t have been tempted to use it very much before today, but then…” He dropped his eyes and slowly brought them up again, which made Harry notice their grey color in a way he wouldn’t have before. “I never had someone worth using it for before now.”  
  
Harry was glad that he had got over blushing most of the time when he was around Draco now. He stepped into the entrance room and looked around. No, there really wasn’t a house-elf behind the door.  
  
There was a mirror on the far wall, which seemed to be the door of a cupboard. Harry blinked at what he saw in it. There were swirling clouds and blue sky, but it did look like a mirror, not an enchanted window.  
  
“That’s the current weather at Hogwarts,” Draco said, stepping up behind him and nuzzling the curve of Harry’s right wing. Harry had to catch his breath and then hold it, shutting his eyes, at the feeling. “I thought I would hang up this mirror because Hogwarts was your first home. It’s only appropriate you should be able to look at it and see what’s happening at your first home all the time when you’re in your second.”  
  
Harry reached over his shoulder. Draco was right in place to catch his hand, and kiss the center of the palm.  
  
“What other surprises do you have in store for me?” Harry murmured.  
  
“They would hardly be surprises if I told you,” Draco said, and sailed along in front of him now, his wings lightly flapping and his heels leaving the floor the way Harry had seen him do in the school. Harry followed, frowning a little. _I forgot to ask him how to do that._  
  
The entrance hall gave way to a series of corridors that Harry didn’t try to memorize. He kept his eyes on Draco instead, because he knew Draco wouldn’t let him get lost. And he didn’t see anything that reminded him of cellars or the way Bellatrix had tortured Hermione.  
  
 _Of course, I also trust Draco to have got rid of anything that would remind me._  
  
They finally halted in front of a poor of doors that had panels of glass in the middle of them, but wavy glass with blue lines in the middle of it, which meant that Harry couldn’t see into the room. He was craning his neck to try anyway when Draco reached out and caressed his wrist, catching his attention.  
  
“I hope the sight of this will cause a second courtship gift to materialize. But I understand if it doesn’t.”  
  
”Absolutely _no_ pressure about that second courtship gift, of course.”  
  
Draco looked startled for a second, and then snorted. “I didn’t mean it that way, Harry. I was only telling you what my hopes were, not my requirements.”  
  
“Okay,” Harry said, after a long moment. He nuzzled Draco’s wing again in apology, and Draco closed his eyes and chirped before he broke away and opened the doors.  
  
“You are so bloody distracting,” Draco muttered under his breath as Harry stepped past him and into the room. It had the tone of a comment he hadn’t meant for Harry to overhear. Harry grinned to himself and tilted his head back. The room was immense, and open at the ceiling, with what Harry thought at first was a skylight.  
  
Then he saw it was too big for that, and thought for another second that it was a ceiling enchanted with the same kind of magic as the Great Hall at Hogwarts.  
  
And then _again_ his perception changed, and Harry bit his lip to avoid saying something sudden. Draco would probably take that the wrong way. He turned slowly in a circle, letting his senses absorb every beat and essence of the room.  
  
The gap above him was an actual hole in the center of the ceiling, surrounded with a ring of marble that projected downwards. Harry could see velvet wrapped around the marble, and thought he knew what it was for: padding to protect his wings when he flew through it.  
  
The whole room was full of sunlight and silence and green growing things. There were flowers tumbling so wildly down the walls that Harry only knew they were the walls because he got a glimpse of stone—sometimes. There was a small stream running over the floor at his feet that he stooped down and slid a hand through.  
  
No, it was real, clear, cool water. Probably magically produced, but not an illusion.  
  
Harry stood up and gaped around again. There were huge vines, too, as if Draco wanted him to think he was in a jungle, although so many different kinds that Harry was sure no real jungle looked this way. And gigantic bobbing orchids, and darting hummingbirds, and butterflies as big as his palm and as blue as Draco’s hopeful eyes when he looked at Harry.  
  
“This is beautiful,” Harry said, his real and honest reaction, and watched Draco beam. “But I’m curious. Do I look like a jungle person?”  
  
“You look like someone who needs more color in his life,” Draco murmured, and came forwards to wrap his arms around Harry. Harry started, and then realized Draco had wrapped his arms around Harry’s torso, beneath his wings. Harry relaxed and swept his wings forwards around both of them.  
  
Draco gasped, maybe at the touch of the soft, warm feathers against his back, but continued. “And someone who needed beauty.” He bit his lip, was silent a moment, and then stroked a hand down Harry’s back and continued. “Someone who needed something completely different than my home used to be. I wanted to show you that I’m not afraid of transforming my home completely.”  
  
“I trust you,” Harry whispered, and nuzzled against Draco’s throat. “I trust you to achieve what you wanted, and to take care of me. It’s lovely.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
They stood wrapped up in each other for a time, and then Draco let him go and led the way to the stream. When he lowered himself into it, Harry blinked. The running water hadn’t looked that deep. He was sure he’d touched the bottom when he reached into it, in fact.  
  
Draco leaned back, looking up at Harry with a flirtatious smile and his eyelashes speckled with clinging water. “This stream has some bathing places and some drinking ones. Join me?” He extended one wing back over the bank.  
  
Harry hesitated only once before he plunged in. He supposed if Draco didn’t mind about getting his clothes wet, Harry shouldn’t, either.  
  
As they drifted around in the stream, Harry turned slowly towards Draco. The sense of that warmth not far away was exhilarating. He rested his cheek against Draco’s and sighed. The combination of the water’s coolness and Draco’s heat was perfect.  
  
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Draco said, and ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, scratching semi-sharply at his scalp. Harry jumped, and Draco chuckled, low and knowing.  
  
“Yes,” said Harry, flushed, and not knowing why. It wasn’t like they had any audience here but the butterflies. “Did you expect a courting gift to appear by now? I’m sorry it hasn’t.”  
  
Draco shook his head, eyes bright and meditative and fixed on Harry. “We’ve hardly done anything to encourage it yet.”  
  
“I think this is _something_.” Harry gestured with one hand around the miniature jungle, and blinked when he heard hidden birds singing. He hadn’t realized they were here, either.  
  
“But what really makes a courtship isn’t just one partner doing something for the other. It’s the partners reacting to what they do, and reciprocating.”  
  
“Okay. So how do you want me to react to you so that a courtship gift shows up?”  
  
Draco laughed breathlessly, eyes locked on him. “I can’t _tell_ you the right way to react. You have to find your way to it on your own or not at all.”  
  
Harry acted on the first impulse that came to mind, and reached out and brushed his hand down Draco’s cheek. He watched the way Draco’s breath grew faster and his eyes so bright that they reminded Harry of some of the fireworks that Fred and George had created. “Like this?” he whispered.  
  
“I can’t—I mean—no courtship gift has appeared yet.”  
  
“But I might want to touch you like that just because I like you,” Harry said, drifting closer to Draco and watching the way his eyes fluttered shut in response. “I might want to warm you up and make you like me.”  
  
“Harry…”  
  
“Or if I can’t make you like me,” Harry said, and fluttered his fingertips along the sides of Draco’s soaked shirt, feeling his ribs and soft skin and sheathed muscle, “I can at least make you feel good.”  
  
“Harry,” Draco repeated, and this time it was a breathless moan, and he swayed as if he was actually going to sink into the water and drown. Harry reached out and held him up, fingers still brushing back and forth to send little shocks of sensation through Draco.  
  
“Yes, I like the way you say my name,” Harry told him conversationally, and turned Draco carefully so that he was leaning against Harry but in no danger of falling beneath the surface, and he could keep his wings dry, too. It was a while since he had been this close to being in an embrace of Draco’s wings, and Harry rubbed his face against the warm feathers and inhaled their sweet smell. “I like it so much, Draco.”  
  
“ _Harry_.”  
  
If Draco went on just saying that for the rest of time, Harry thought, he’d like that, too. He tilted Draco’s chin up, and Draco let his eyes open for the one moment Harry thought they needed eye contact before Harry kissed him.  
  
It was melting warmth, the way Draco seemed to be feeling, and it spiraled through Harry’s mouth like the taste of hot chocolate. Draco made a noise that could have been a grunt or a whimper; the most important thing about it was the subtle buzz it made on Harry’s tongue, instead of exactly what it was. Harry bent back until Draco was almost floating on his chest, and kissed him again.  
  
The warmth flared and blazed, and suddenly there was light around them, so much light it was like the roof had been ripped off. Harry backed off from kissing Draco, blinking.   
  
“No, what are you _doing_?” Draco whined, reaching out to cup the back of Harry’s neck and pull him in again.  
  
“The light,” Harry said, and took another glimpse around the jungle. The vines and the flowers and the water were shimmering with reflected radiance. “I think maybe something’s gone wrong with the spells for the jungle.”  
  
“No,” said Draco, and at least he finally seemed to be paying attention to the things around them again. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “It’s a courtship gift. It’ll coalesce into something solid after a moment.”  
  
But as they waited, drifting in the unexpectedly warm waters of the stream, the light didn’t coalesce, and didn’t coalesce. It seemed content to drift along the surface of the river instead, and get itself caught in tree branches, and surround the nodding heads of flowers. Harry shot Draco a baffled look. “Is it normal for the magic to take this long to make up its mind about a courtship gift?”  
  
Draco shook his head. “Most of the time, the gifts are things like mirrors or blades or food. It’s easy to see what relevance they have to the courting pair.” Then he caught his breath.  
  
Harry turned, thinking the light had finally settled, but it was still dancing, that odd, shadowless mixture of white and gold and silver. Harry looked back at Draco and saw his face soft with wonder.  
  
“It could be that the gift is the light itself,” Draco whispered. “I’ve heard of a few situations like that, although mostly legendary ones.”  
  
“Well,” said Harry comfortably, “I suppose it could be useful to light our way in the darkness and so on.”  
  
“We don’t even need it to do that,” said Draco, and turned to him with a smile so bright that it competed with the light, for Harry. “It’s a sign that we’re already enlightened, that we already found the way to each other—what’s so funny?”  
  
“ _Enlightened_.”  
  
Draco glared at him. “I’m talking about one of the rarest courting gifts a Veela pair can receive, and you want to talk about _puns_?”  
  
Harry leaned forwards and kissed Draco on the nose, which at least make him look adorable, if not less angry. “I’m sorry. But I thought you loved me for my sense of humor.” He let his head hang and looked up beneath his eyelids at Draco.  
  
“I—well, it doesn’t hurt,” Draco said, and then apparently attempted to recover his dignity. “Except when you say something _this_ silly.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Draco. I shall attempt to be properly respectful of your dignity and heritage from now on.”  
  
“This isn’t about my bloody heritage! It’s about the rare courting gift that we got.” Draco turned and held out a hand to the light, and coaxed it from hovering around an orchid to hovering on his finger. “I want you to pay attention enough to properly respect it.”  
  
“But what do we do with it?” Harry held out his hand, too. The light was perfectly content to migrate from Draco’s finger to his. It didn’t feel like much of anything, except perhaps a faint heat on the back of his hand. “Parade it around to impress people?”  
  
“They’re _going_ to be impressed, one way or another. We’re hard to ignore.”  
  
Harry felt his lips quiver, and leaned towards Draco, sliding his wings around Draco’s cheeks and cupping them. He no longer cared if the feathers at the tips dragged in the water or got wet at all. It didn’t matter. The only important thing that happened was Draco’s face becoming softer and warmer than the light.  
  
“Of course they’re going to be impressed,” Harry whispered, sliding his fingers against Draco’s cheeks. “Who’s captured the best and most beautiful Veela around here, I’d like to know?”  
  
“ _Me_.”  
  
And then it was Harry’s turn to be overwhelmed as Draco pressed him back against the bank of the stream and kissed him hard enough to make his lips bleed a little. And the light, although it flickered and leaped around them and went back to clinging to the orchids, was forgotten for a little while as they kissed and kissed.  
  
When Harry woke in a tangle with Draco on the bank, later, he found the light perched above their heads like a watchful phoenix. He gave it a sleepy smile, and the light wound itself into a braided shape and jumped back and forth from flower to flower, and maybe even birdsong to birdsong. That was what it looked like to Harry, at least.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispered.   
  
The light glowed softly down at him.


	20. Separate But Equal

“Mr. Potter, stay after class.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes a little, ignoring the concerned glance Draco gave him. He had wondered how long it would take for Testig to start picking at him again. He wrapped up his face in a smile to reassure Draco, nodded to him, and walked over to stand in front of Testig.  
  
She only considered him for long moments, her wings flaring out as if to balance her. Harry kept looking back. He didn’t want her to think she could intimidate him. That would be even worse than her deciding he was a problem and confrontational.  
  
Testig finally waved a hand like someone scrubbing a window and said, “I think it’s true. You’re not trying to contact Healers to get them to invade the school and rescue you.”  
  
Harry blinked. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“I received this letter yesterday, along with several of the other professors. Miranda was quite upset over it.”  
  
Testig held out a letter. Even though Harry had never seen the particular handwriting on it, he could guess who it was from. The ink used glittered a pale blue instead of a normal black, and Harry grimaced as he took it.  
  
“They’re no allies of yours, then,” said Testig, still watching him with her head tilted to the side like a bird trying to bring something into focus.  
  
“No,” said Harry. “They’re convinced that the color of the stripes on my wings means something—I don’t know, _mystical_.” He’d dealt with people like that before, including the ones who thought he’d saved them from Voldemort based on eye color or the night he was born or some combination of rare magical rituals his parents had performed. None of them ever wanted to hear the truth, that Harry was an ordinary person whose mother had taken an extraordinary risk.  
  
He supposed being Veela wasn’t exactly like that, but the Healers were still as fucking annoying as the people who kept writing to him about the Arithmantical roots of his name or some such nonsense.  
  
“And they’re arguing with each other about it,” Harry added, turning the parchment over and reading the name written on the back. This one happened to be from Healer Veraz, but he was just as bad as Kilhoun. He would have contacted Harry through the Floo if he could have. And now he’d made professors Harry was just barely beginning to get along with think bad things about him.  
  
“Why are they arguing?”  
  
Harry looked up, blinking. “Because each of them thinks the blue is some special variation of blue. Cerulean, or azure, or…I forget the others. And they want to hold me captive and study me because I changed into a Veela by accident, and that seems to be rare.”  
  
“There are no others in the school. Is that not enough to tell you how rare you are?”  
  
“But I don’t _know_ anything! That doesn’t make me special. It makes me feel stupid and like I have to scramble to catch up!”  
  
Testig was still for long moments, her wings moving slightly in time to what Harry thought was her breath. Then she inclined her head and murmured, “Permit me to say I misjudged you. I had thought—that you considered yourself special because you were the only one of your kind. I understand the way you think now.”  
  
“I don’t think I’m special, because I’m not,” Harry muttered, and looked away. He was wishing now that he’d gone with Draco. Staying here would only embarrass both him and Testig, probably.  
  
“Very well,” said Testig. “But you must beware of going in the other direction. Everyone who sees you can tell it’s not true.”  
  
“What other direction? I’m not going to walk around telling everyone I’m not special, if that’s what you mean.”  
  
“True. But excessive humility can be acted out, not announced. After the way everyone saw you defeat me in the duel, they know you’re special.” Testig didn’t sound like she was bragging as she stretched her wings out and let him look at the spread of colors along them. “Most of my students would not have won that duel. Most of them would not have been innovative enough to think of the tactics you did.”  
  
Harry had to snort. “So now I can be called innovative?”  
  
“Now you can,” said Testig serenely. “Just make sure that you demonstrate it in other ways than duels.” She gave Harry a small smile and waved him towards the door of the classroom. “I’ll tell the other professors that you didn’t contact the Healers to have them besiege us with letters and you’re as annoyed as we are.”  
  
“Thank you,” Harry said quietly. But he couldn’t turn away yet. “What would you have done if you’d found out that I _did_ want the Healers to write to you?”  
  
“Been irritated.”  
  
Given how effective Testig’s irritation had been so far at provoking him, Harry didn’t think he needed another answer. He gave one of those tips of his wings that Draco was always on about him having to do, and then left the classroom and nearly smacked into Draco where the door should have been.  
  
“Were you _listening_?” Harry scolded him, a little appalled, as he reached out and dragged Draco along with him. Draco stumbled but used his wings to keep his feet, and went on looking at Harry with exasperatingly guiltless eyes.  
  
“I wanted to know what she was talking to you about. No one should have the right to scold my mate except me. And she did already challenge you to a duel once.”  
  
“That doesn’t matter. She just wanted to know if I’d encouraged the Healers to write to the professors or not.”  
  
“They _did that?”_ Little feathers were rising on Draco’s neck and all along the edges of his wings.  
  
Harry nodded, absurdly pleased that someone felt like that. Technically Testig had, too, but, well, she wasn’t on his side in the same way Draco was. _And I don’t even know if that’s a Veela thought or not._ “Yes. They seem to think they can come into the school and rescue me—that is, take me back to be studied some more. The professors thought I was writing to complain to them about how horribly I’m treated here.”  
  
“But you _aren’t_ treated horribly.” Draco turned and faced him, wings almost vibrating with his distress as he rested their tips on Harry’s shoulders and stared desperately into his eyes. “Tell me that you aren’t being treated harshly.”  
  
“Not now,” Harry said gently, and stroked the edge of Draco’s wing until his expression eased almost in spite of himself. “But at first, when I didn’t think I would enjoy having you as my mate and I didn’t know why I had to learn to control my powers, I did think it was horrible to be here.”  
  
“You can’t leave. I’m your _mate_.”  
  
“Well, in a few weeks you and I will both finish all the classes we need,” Harry did have to point out. “What’s going to happen then?”  
  
“You would only have a month here if you wanted to learn the bare minimum about controlling your powers,” Draco said at once. “But you’ll need longer if you want more than that, and to become the expert on controlling your powers that you really _should_ be. What if you have more powers like the Shriek just waiting to be discovered? And what about your allure?”  
  
“What about that?” Harry asked. “I mean, it hasn’t seemed overwhelming lately—”  
  
“Because you’ve accepted me as your mate, and that calms it down.” Even in the midst of worry Draco could sound smug. Harry noted that for the future. “But if you’re away from me, or if something stresses our bond, then it could get out of control again.”  
  
Harry frowned. “I want to learn how to tamp it down, not only control it because I’m standing next to you.”  
  
Draco nodded. “I know. But since we’re going to be together all the time anyway…”  
  
Harry drew back and studied him. “Would _you_ be content with that? Being with me all the time, and never doing anything on your own?”  
  
“You make it sound like it’s a sacrifice.” Draco sighed a little. “It’s not, Harry. I’m a Veela, not a traveler. This is what we do.”  
  
“But if I go back to being an Auror—”  
  
“If the Healers are treating you like this, as a cross between a monster and an experiment, how do you think the rest of the Aurors are going to treat you? I don’t think you can just walk back into your normal life, Harry.”  
  
Harry ran his hand through his hair. This echoed other arguments they’d had before, he knew, when he had thought his world would be the same as before with the _addition_ of a mate and wings, and Draco thought it would change completely. Harry didn’t know how to resolve it completely, what to say to make Draco understand.  
  
Of course, he also hadn’t tried going back to the Aurors and _asking_ them, which would be the only way to settle it completely.  
  
“Today,” he said abruptly, and saw Draco’s head tilt curiously. “I want to meet some Aurors who aren’t Ron—he’s going to accept me no matter what happens—and ask them what they think. If I can be just a normal Auror again.”  
  
“How can we? We have classes—”  
  
“You didn’t mind sneaking away when you were going home to prepare that jungle room for me.”  
  
Draco stood silent, conflicted. The light they’d conjured for a courtship gift shone around his hair a few minutes later and danced on his shoulders like sunlight reflecting off water. Harry watched him in silence. The light was around them most of the time, but not when they were upset or having an argument.  
  
“That was part of being a Veela,” Draco said at last. “Courting you, hoping a courting gift would show up.” He pinned Harry with an unwavering gaze. “This wouldn’t be.”  
  
“You can think of it as my courtship gift to you,” Harry countered. “The way that I’m trying to make you part of my life.”  
  
“It shouldn’t be like that,” Draco said, softly but intensely, his wings hunching forwards as if he was going to fly straight at an enemy. “It should be the Aurors that you have to integrate into your life as a Veela.”  
  
Harry felt his wings flutter in agitation, and the light around Draco’s shoulders dimmed again. “I don’t know if I’ll have to. I don’t know what the Aurors will think. I don’t even know what the regulations are about Aurors with wings. And I mean, there have to have been some. People who grew wings as a result of Transfigurations that went wrong, or magical accidents.”  
  
“Most people like that would have gone and got the wings removed, though. And I think it’s _safe_ to say that you’ve chosen against that.”  
  
Draco looked so challenging now that Harry crooned without thinking about it, his wings stretching out. Draco let himself be drawn near and soothed, but his frown didn’t ease, and his eyes didn’t leave Harry’s face. Harry sighed and brushed his cheek back and forth along Draco’s.  
  
“Yes,” he said. “I chose you. I’m not going to go off and suddenly abandon you.”  
  
Draco relaxed muscle by muscle, and hissed under his breath as he did it. “The light still hasn’t come back.”  
  
Harry nodded. “I know. I really think I need to talk to the Aurors before I’ll know their answer one way or the other.”  
  
“They won’t accept it. I’m sure of it.”  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
Draco waited one more moment, as if he thought that would convert Harry to his side, and then he sighed in discontent and drooped his head. “I agree. I just hate to think of you facing dislike from people you worked with.”  
  
“You hate to think of me facing dislike from anybody,” Harry corrected gently, and soothed Draco with another touch to his wings. “Including the teachers here and people who were born Veela and don’t understand why I wouldn’t want to be transformed into one.”  
  
“But it hurts more when it’s people whose good opinion you actually _want_.”  
  
Harry grinned and shrugged. “Right, although it does make it easier when the professors have good opinions of me.” He leaned forwards until he could look into Draco’s eyes. “Will you let me do this?”  
  
“I can’t prevent you.”  
  
“I’d prefer to have your blessing. Because it makes it uncomfortable for _me_ when you feel like this. I hate causing you distress.”  
  
Draco worked his wings back and forth a little, and then dipped his head reluctantly and muttered, “If you think you need it.”  
  
“Thank you.” And Harry did feel an easing as he spoke, his wings stretching out and then sweeping back around his body. “I’ll go and speak to them today. You can come with me to the Ministry, or just skip your classes—”   
  
“No, I’ll go to class in case there’s anyone who doesn’t know the truth about the Healers’ letters. Then I’ll be there to tell them.”  
  
Harry ran his hand along Draco’s collarbone. “What did I do to deserve such a wonderful mate?”  
  
“It has to be something in another life.” Draco winked at him. “Because I can’t remember anything in this one, except having the good taste to choose me.”  
  
*  
  
“Mr. Potter. I didn’t expect to see you back for some time.”  
  
Harry settled himself in front of Auror Jared Klein, who had helped mentor Harry when he was a trainee and who was now the next candidate for Head Auror. He noticed the lack of title and hoped that Jared wouldn’t recognize the uneasy ruffling of the feathers on the edges of his wings for what it was. “I know. But there was something I wondered about so much that it was disrupting my performance at the school. I wanted to know the answer to it before it got worse.”  
  
“Ask the question, then.” Jared did eye Harry’s wings, but his eyes were neutral, and told Harry nothing about the answer to the question in advance.  
  
“Am I going to be a regular Auror, still, with my wings?” Harry asked bluntly. “Is there some regulation that covers Aurors who are part-Veela or have Veela allure or—anything like that?”  
  
Jared stirred and leaned back in his chair. “I thought you were going to take the potions and have the wings removed.”  
  
“Maybe if I had found nothing but misery at the school, I would have.” Harry tried out a smile, but Jared didn’t smile back, only watching him alertly, and Harry sighed and gave up on that tactic, trying another one. “But I found a mate. I don’t want to abandon him.”  
  
“I heard about that. Malfoy.” Now Jared showed some emotion, at least enough to frown. “Are you _sure_ that taking him as your mate is a good idea, Harry? Some of the things I’ve heard about that man…”  
  
“Rumors that were proved false years ago,” Harry snapped, defensive faster than he’d thought he’d get. He swallowed and sighed, inclining his head. “Listen. I only need to know what the regulations are about Aurors with Veela blood.”  
  
Jared sighed and looked away. “Technically, there aren’t any. There have been maybe two Aurors with visible Veela blood since the Aurors began. There aren’t any living in England most of the time, and the ones who’re mixed mostly go to Beauxbatons and find a place in France. Not to mention that most Veela don’t want to serve in such a dangerous career and chance leaving their mates behind.”   
  
Harry nodded slowly. “So it’s handled on a case-by-case basis?”  
  
“Yes.” Jared looked at him. “But since you’re so prominent and have those wings and that mate, they might want to impose some extra rules on you.”  
  
“What? Like don’t come into any investigation that has a high secrecy quotient, because what in the world would we do with you?”  
  
Jared’s eyes remained serious, without even a hint of the smile Harry had hoped to provoke. “More like, what is Harry Potter still doing in Auror work if he’s a real Veela? And if he’s a real Auror, why doesn’t he remove those wings that give him an unfair advantage over other people? He has enough unfair advantages already.”  
  
Harry stopped. There was a tone in Jared’s voice that made him think that… “Is that something you believe yourself?” he asked quietly. “Or are you repeating what you think the reaction is going to be?”  
  
Jared winced and glanced away from him. “The reaction. But, Harry, it is true that you get some of the plum cases because of your fame, and if you insist on this, then there’ll be people suspecting it’s your allure, too.”  
  
“My allure is under control.” And Harry knew it was. No one had drooled at him on the way into the building. There had been some gawking, but that came entirely from people being unused to his wings.  
  
“They won’t know that.”  
  
“Then I’ll tell them until they get it,” Harry said tensely, and stood up. He hated to admit that Draco had been more right than he had. They weren’t kicking him out of the Aurors, but they sure weren’t as accepting as Harry had thought they would be.  
  
“It’s not your fault, Harry. I know that. But everyone thought you were going to get rid of the wings.”  
  
“Well, I’m not,” Harry snapped, and stalked out of the office, not even caring about the way his wings bristled around him.  
  



	21. Free of the Danger

“I told you they wouldn’t accept you back.”  
  
Harry leaned his elbow on his knee and shut his eyes and said nothing. Draco was massaging the center of his back, in between his wings, and that was something that would have relaxed Harry most of the time. But right now, he didn’t want to respond to anything Draco said or did.  
  
He would just sit here and try to absorb the blow, that he couldn’t do his job the way he always had before the stupid accident that had turned him into a Veela. When he’d returned, he’d thought that maybe he could owl Jared and ask whether wings and allure would prevent him from doing paperwork.  
  
But he hadn’t become an Auror to do paperwork and nothing else. Harry had to admit he would probably give up on the job in boredom even if Jared said yes.  
  
Draco’s hand pressed down harder and he bent to whisper in Harry’s ear. “I want you here with me, listening to me, paying attention to me. I’m the only one who can make you feel better.”  
  
Harry reared, flapping his wings, hard enough to make Draco lose his grasp and fall back on the bed. Harry wheeled around and demanded, “How can you make me _feel better_ when you’re telling me I should have known better?”  
  
“I didn’t put it like that—”  
  
“It’s still an ‘I told you so.’” Harry folded his wings back again, sick at heart. At the moment, he didn’t need more reminders of the reason the Aurors had rejected him. “It’s still something that means you were right, I was wrong, and I should have known better because I’m stupid.”  
  
Draco got his hands beneath him and blinked a little at Harry. “I never said that.”  
  
“You didn’t have to.”  
  
“I never _meant_ that, either, no matter what I said.” Draco watched him for a second longer, and then began to croon beneath his breath.  
  
Harry folded his arms and wrapped his wings around his head, which made it a lot harder to hear Draco. He knew exactly what Draco was doing. Calm Harry down, and he could stay. Since they were in Harry’s bedroom, he was the one who would have to leave otherwise.  
  
 _And admit he was making things worse._ Draco never wanted to admit he was wrong, or do anything he didn’t want to.  
  
 _Well, he wasn’t wrong._  
  
But that just made it worse, the constant reminder that Draco had been right about the Aurors not accepting Harry back again. His wings had cost him a lot, and at the moment, what they’d brought him in return didn’t seem worth it.  
  
He would have left the room himself, but Draco moved around to stand in front of him with his wings extended and his eyes locked on Harry. Harry could have shoved at him or leaped over his head, but that would leave him in real danger of knocking Draco over or injuring his own wings. He hesitated, and Draco moved towards him.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered. “Not about being right, but that they won’t take you back. I think you should speak to Granger and see whether she can challenge them on that one, too. She likes fighting for creature rights. She would have your back.”  
  
“She would have my back because she’s my _friend_ ,” Harry muttered. “Not because I’m a Veela and she likes fighting for creature rights.”  
  
But he let Draco embrace him and rub his back until he felt warm relaxation flowing through his muscles. Draco led him back to the bed, and Harry climbed on it and started to curl up. Draco coaxed him and pulled at him and purred at him until Harry was stretched out on his stomach with his wings drooping off to the sides of the bed.  
  
“There’s something I wanted to try before, but I never felt we were close enough,” Draco murmured into his ear. “Can you—yes, ease over, and lift your wings a little.” He moved so he was kneeling in the middle of Harry’s back. It should have hurt, but maybe Draco’s bones had changed and grown lighter since he became a Veela. Harry suspected his had.  
  
 _That’s just another thing that would make me a bloody awful Auror. I hit someone and he doesn’t go down the way he was supposed to. Instead,_ my _bones break and I’m writhing around and screeching like some bird…_  
  
“Harry. You didn’t tell me if I could.”  
  
“Suddenly you need permission?” Harry muttered.  
  
“You could have hurled me out of the way before, or told me to go. I would have obeyed either command.”  
  
Telling Draco to go hadn’t actually occurred to Harry. He wrestled for a second with his thoughts, and then grunted and spread his wings. Draco touched the edges of them, rubbing soft feathers between his fingers.  
  
“Good,” he said. “Now spread them out. The feathers, not the wings,” he added, when Harry instinctively extended his pinions. “Just the outer feathers, too. Can you do that? I know you were working on it with Professor Helios the other day.”  
  
“That was probably the class you skipped because you were at the Manor preparing the jungle room,” Harry grumbled, but even that memory helped, the image of the room where they’d first bathed in the light overlaying some of the harsh reality around him. When he concentrated hard enough, the feathers spread out and he felt Draco reward him with the press of a knee into his back.  
  
“Good, very good,” Draco whispered to him. “You don’t know how happy you make me, Harry.”  
  
Harry blinked a little, lifted his shoulders to try and feel what was pressed between them even more than the knee, and then nodded. He was pretty sure that, yes, that was Draco’s erection. “I might have some idea.”  
  
“Feel this,” Draco whispered, and then he reached out and called some sort of Veela magic to his hands and ran his fingertips between Harry’s feathers.  
  
Harry arched, his mouth open but no sound bleeding out. His eyes fluttered shut in the next moment, the way his feathers were fluttering in between Draco’s fingers. Warm sparks collected in his chest and showered down towards his groin, which he lowered and rubbed against the bed.  
  
Draco chuckled in delight into his ear and murmured, “Let’s not do that just yet.” Then he curled his arm around Harry’s chest and began stroking the feathers of his wings with just one hand.  
  
Harry floated there, wanting more friction than he was getting but also content with the marvelous pleasure that rained through him as Draco’s hands moved. It was an odd feeling. How could he want more but also have no desires because he had all he wanted?  
  
Then Draco crooned.  
  
It hit Harry much like Harry’s Shriek probably hit Draco. Harry lifted his head and twisted it from side to side, lips parted. One of Draco’s fingers slid between his lips and he sucked on it, hard.  
  
From the way Draco sucked in his breath back and pressed the erection Harry had already felt between Harry’s shoulders, he at least wasn’t alone. Harry tried to roll over and sit up. Hell with Draco touching his wings anymore. He wanted to see what they could do when they were together.  
  
But Draco, with some flapping from his own wings, maintained his position and hissed into Harry’s ear, harsh and tempting. “Lie back down. Let me touch you some more. I promise, you’re going to like this.”  
  
“I like this already,” Harry countered. “And now I want to give my mate the same pleasure.”  
  
From the way Draco’s hands went slack, Harry thought that would work. But when he tried to rise up again, Draco pushed him down as sternly as before. “Wait,” he said, before he crooned again.  
  
This time, the sound curled around Harry like chains of gold. He found himself lying down, drifting in the same semi-coherent state as before, and this time Draco’s hands were delving even deeper, sliding in and holding his feathers up as if he wanted to display them to an audience. Harry kicked without meaning to, and again Draco fluttered over the motion and came down to sit in the middle of his back.  
  
“No,” Draco said. “Let me do this for you.”  
  
After shifting and thinking about that for a minute, Harry decided to allow it. He lowered his head and accepted the massage Draco gave his feathers, then his shoulders, then the nape of his neck. He was relaxed as far as his muscles went but charged at the same time, drifting in the middle of what felt like warm water.  
  
“Good,” Draco said breathlessly. _At least he’s breathless,_ Harry thought, somewhere in the part of his brain that could still be smug. “Now let me get my fingers into your feathers again…”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to ask how he could do that even more than he already was, but Draco showed him. He manipulated Harry’s wings until they must be rearing on either side of him like arches. Then he reached up and touched the top of Harry’s primaries, and ran his fingers down in one smooth motion.   
  
Harry screeched. Or crooned, or shouted, or something. He didn’t even know the name for the noise that came out of his mouth, the way he didn’t know the name for the pleasure that shot through him.  
  
It was a blaze of light, a streaking comet, a radiance that formed a crown around his head. And it was _everywhere._ Most of Harry felt the way only his groin felt when he came. He tightened his hands on the edge of the bed and thrashed, beating his wings, not even thinking about where Draco would be.  
  
Apparently Draco had found a safe place, because Harry felt his arms around him and heard his pleased chirping in his ear. It took a long, long moment before Harry could really focus on that and turn his head to nuzzle Draco’s arm in thanks, but when he could, Draco chirped even louder.  
  
Harry was exhausted, his wings bedraggled, but he’d felt like that sometimes before in much less pleasant circumstances, and he’d always got back on his feet. He concentrated on his legs for a second, and then his arms. They would both bear his weight. He sat up and reached for Draco.  
  
Draco blinked at him, even as he lay back down on the bed next to Harry, almost cautiously. “Most people would be unconscious after something like that,” he said, peering at Harry.  
  
“Well, most people aren’t me,” Harry said, and he didn’t _think_ that fatigue blurred and twisted the words as they came out, even though Draco was looking at him in a funny way. Harry nuzzled the side of Draco’s neck and reached up to touch his forehead, his fringe, his cheeks. Draco watched him with wondering eyes.  
  
What Harry really wanted to do was return the favor. But he didn’t know if he could have controlled that kind of Veela magic even on a good day. He thought it was either a special power of Draco’s or something Draco knew how to do because he’d spent more time as a Veela than Harry had.  
  
Still, that didn’t mean he was helpless. He slid his hand into Draco’s trousers, and Draco actually spasmed and gave half a croon and grabbed his wrist.  
  
“You don’t have to do that.”  
  
“Maybe not, but I want to,” Harry said, staring into Draco’s eyes, feeling the cooling stickiness in his own pants. Yes, he’d come, although the pleasure had been so strong Harry almost hadn’t noticed. And he wanted to return the favor. He slid his fingers in a loose ring down Draco to his base, and watched the way he arched.  
  
 _Not as strongly as I reacted, but still nice,_ Harry thought, proud of himself, and then slowly slid his hand back up and acted like he would take it out. “Unless you want me to stop, of course,” he added.  
  
“I don’t want you to stop,” Draco murmured, and slid sideways, his head almost hanging off the bed, sighing when Harry rubbed some of the wetness collecting in his palm back into Draco’s erection.  
  
It was wonderful to watch Draco like this, little breaths escaping his parted lips, his closed eyes darting around like he was dreaming. It made the aches and pains of the morning retreat until Harry had a hard time remembering how upset he’d been when he came into the bedroom.  
  
If he went on thinking about that, though, he probably _would_ get more upset, and upset Draco, too. Harry shook his head and went back to holding and twisting, stroking and soothing.  
  
Draco was warmth embodied, glowing with it. The light had started to gather at the tips of his wings, and it spread onto Harry as he wanked Draco. Maybe it had been there all along, but Harry only _noticed_ it when it started to mark his boots and his hair, and then spark and dance along the tips of his feathers.  
  
It was wonderful to watch Draco by the reflected glow of that light, too.  
  
When Draco finally arched up under his hand and came, Harry blinked in surprise, and stilled his hand. Draco didn’t seem to notice or mind. Harry had lost track of the fact that he was trying to make Draco climax. It was—something natural when it happened, but watching him was better.  
  
Draco cuddled close to him when he was done. Harry curled up and let his head rest on Draco’s chest, listening to his breathing.  
  
But Draco didn’t drop off to sleep right away, as Harry had more or less assumed he would. He kept lying there and breathing steadily, and Harry had to ask the question that now buzzed in the back of his mind and prevented _him_ from going to sleep, even if asking it would cause problems. “I thought you might want to kill the Aurors when I came in and told you what they said. Why didn’t you?”  
  
Draco pressed his lips to the back of Harry’s neck. “Because what I really _wanted_ was to make you feel better,” he said softly. “And I remembered what you told me when I tried to go after the Healers. Hurting them wouldn’t make you feel better.”  
  
Harry nodded. He had said the same thing when Draco went after the Dursleys. “So you made me feel good instead.”  
  
“Mmm.” Draco smirked at him and slid a long, slow wing down Harry’s flank, making his skin ache and tingle. “And it went well, didn’t it?”  
  
“Of course it did.” Harry closed his eyes. He had to say something, and he hoped the warmth and the light, which was now playing with their reflections in the mirror visible through the bathroom door, would soften his words if he said the wrong thing. “That was the first time I wanted—another man.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Harry blinked. “Because you never heard any reports about me being gay before?”  
  
“No. Because that’s one of my gifts, one of the smaller ones.” Draco’s fingers sank into Harry’s hair and raked through it almost the way they had through the feathers of his wings. “I can tell—sexual things about other Veela. I can tell you who’s a virgin and who just had sex and who will have a hard time finding a mate because they have certain very specific tastes.”  
  
Harry buried his head in Draco’s chest. Draco snorted. “What’s the matter _now_?”  
  
“Is that part of your gift? To tell when your mate’s upset about something sexual?” Harry muttered.  
  
“I never experienced it before.” Draco poked him sharply in the ribs, making Harry flare his wings in instinctive defense. “A goblin could tell you’re upset right now, Harry. Tell me.”  
  
“I’m jealous of the people you read those things about before I got here,” Harry muttered into the crook of Draco’s collarbone, where he’d moved his mouth. “Even though it had nothing to do with me, and you would have just as much basis being jealous of someone else I used the Shriek on. I’m sorry.”  
  
“I _rejoice_ in hearing you say that you’re jealous,” Draco whispered. “That’s the sort of Veela I am, if you like—beyond all the gifts and the fact that I like having you as my mate, I like knowing that my mate doesn’t want to share me, even in something as small as this.”  
  
“Well, I don’t,” said Harry, embarrassed despite himself. He shifted and sat up, shook out his wings, and arranged himself more comfortably, wings wrapped around Draco and no longer crushed against the bed. “I don’t want to sound childish about it, but I don’t.”  
  
“You can sound childish all you like,” Draco said, his hand gliding up the side of Harry’s head and around in a spiral that ended at his pulse. “I don’t mind.”  
  
Harry wanted to say that he did, but even that wasn’t strictly true. He minded only until he heard Draco say _he_ didn’t, and then all his protests collapsed into dust.  
  
When they finally fell asleep, Harry didn’t know, but he knew it was together, tangled around each other with feathers blowing in the puff of each other’s breaths, and that was enough for him.


	22. The Fulfillment of Certain Fears

  
“They can’t do this to you, Harry.” Hermione looked as enormously satisfied as she only did when she’d come up with some new way of challenging the Ministry. “I spent all afternoon looking through the laws. They _can’t_ exclude an Auror from serving in the ranks unless they have a condition that makes them actively dangerous to someone else, the way a werewolf might be.” The iron tone in Hermione’s voice said she would challenge that, too, soon enough. “The worst Veela allure could do is make people look like fools. And even then, they’ve made exceptions for some of the people who have relatives on the Wizengamot.”  
  
“But how does that help me?” Harry propped his chin in his hands. He was sitting with Hermione on the cliff where he and Draco had gone for their lunch. Draco had flown with him there and then even agreed to leave them alone, although Harry could see him stalking vigilantly around at the edge of the meadow. “I don’t have any relatives on the Wizengamot.”  
  
Hermione looked at him patiently. “Well?” Harry prodded again, when a few moments had passed in silence.  
  
“By making exceptions, they’ve already weakened those laws that Klein tried to tell you were so firm,” Hermione explained. “So we can make the case that they should make exceptions for you, too.”   
  
Harry nodded, seeing what she was getting at. “The kind of exception they would probably make for me anyway since I’m the Boy-Who-Lived.”  
  
“Right,” said Hermione. “And I don’t think that should happen, I think everyone should be treated equally, but since they _won’t_ , I’ll use that against them to expose the flaws in their stupid system.”  
  
Harry grinned. He had the feeling that, if those old pure-bloods could have any idea of how fierce Hermione-of-the-future was going to be, they would have gone ahead and already revamped the Ministry to be fairer. It would save their descendants a lot of trouble in the end.  
  
“Besides,” Hermione added, and shook out a long scroll that she’d been holding folded up like an accordion, “there’s basically been _lots_ of part-Veela Aurors in the ranks. Klein probably couldn’t find them because he was looking for ones with wings and visible allure and the like. But there have been lots of people like Fleur, who are just less obvious.”  
  
Harry grinned wider. “And probably no one objected to their allure or told them they couldn’t come along on missions, did they?”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “No. Invited them, if anything.”  
  
Harry just nodded. He knew Hermione thought Fleur was ridiculous for sometimes charming people out of their prejudice instead of talking to them and making them _think_ about it, the way Hermione would have, but after being in the school, Harry could understand. If Fleur had any contact with Veela like his professors, she probably thought of herself as part of a separate culture, a separate people, and saw no need to hold back on charming enemies when the alternative was being in a difficult situation.  
  
“So you can still be part of the Aurors,” said Hermione briskly, and chased a piece of hair out of her mouth as the wind began to pick up. “The question is what strategy we should use to attack them. What do you think would be best?”  
  
“What? Hermione, you know more about strategy than I do. So does Ron.”  
  
“But you’re the one who’s going to have to get up and make speeches, maybe, or talk to Aurors, or face the Wizengamot, depending on what we decide. I’m not one of those Healers who think they can make decisions without consulting you, Harry.”  
  
Harry reached out and squeezed her hand, hard. Hermione gave him a smug smile, and then waited. Harry finally said, “Why don’t you describe some of the strategies to me, and I can tell you which one I like?”  
  
Hermione nodded. “Okay. In a direct legal confrontation, we go right to the Wizengamot and tell the Aurors to piss off.” Harry had to grin. “Or we could link this to the campaigns that I already have going for rights for werewolves and house-elves. Just add Veela to it. That’s the more political and longer-term one. Or we could go directly to your adoring public and ask them whether it’s fair that Harry Potter is prevented from being an Auror.”  
  
Harry flinched and brought his wings forwards before he thought about it. He knew from the way Draco immediately lifted his head that he’d felt that. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” Harry whispered. “I _can’t_ do that. I can’t…”  
  
“It’s all right,” Hermione said, although she looked a little startled. She leaned forwards and patted Harry’s foot. “Sorry. I forgot how much you hate your fame. I thought we could make it work for us for once.”  
  
“If Harry doesn’t want to use his fame, he won’t have to.”  
  
Harry leaned back so he could feel Draco’s warm legs behind him, and saw Draco shift his wings forwards at the same moment, so that their feathers touched and intertwined, Harry’s primaries fitting into the spaces between Draco’s and vice versa. Hermione only shook her head as if she didn’t understand how special what was happening in front of her was. “I never said he had to. Only that it was a step we could take.”  
  
“Harry doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do. He never will again.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes and threw his head back. Draco stirred one of his wings out of their perfect joining to stroke the edges of his feathers along Harry’s throat. That almost seemed to knead the croon out of Harry’s skin, streaming up towards and touching Draco’s face. Draco rubbed his cheek against Harry’s then, and Harry heard the sensation of Hermione clearing her throat, and probably looking politely away.  
  
“He may have to do a _few_ things he doesn’t want, if he’s going to be an Auror again.”  
  
Draco made a complicated noise, a squeak and a croon and a growl, and crouched down so that his wings spread on and around Harry and shielded him from Hermione’s view, like a tent. Harry reached up and touched a few of the feathers, awed. Draco had never done something like this before out of anger. He thought it was that, rather than jealousy.  
  
“He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to.”  
  
“I wouldn’t _make_ him—”  
  
“You were trying to persuade him to appeal to his fans!”  
  
It sounded like Draco was marshaling a good shriek of his own. Harry reached up and gently moved aside a cloud of feathers so that he could see over the top of the wings and meet Hermione’s eyes.  
  
Hermione looked both exasperated and indulgent. Harry had seen her look the same way when the house-elves wouldn’t listen to her as she explained the benefits of freedom. At least she was tolerant of all those foibles that she knew were part of creature heritage.  
  
“I’m listening,” said Hermione. “But I do think that it’s a matter of Harry picking what appeals to him the most. Or appalls him the least,” she added, after another look at Harry’s face. “If it’s not his fans, that’s fine. But it’ll need to be the Wizengamot or working with my campaign.”  
  
“And what if he doesn’t want to be an Auror again at all?”  
  
“Well, I was under the impression that he did,” Hermione said, after a long, blank moment in which Harry could almost feel her bafflement lapping against him like waves. “Otherwise, I don’t understand why I’m here at all.”  
  
“You can give him strategies, in case he decides that’s what he wants.” Draco leaned forwards and nuzzled Harry again, his chin heavy on his shoulder. “But I do think we need to talk about why he has to work with people who are prejudiced against him for something he can’t help. And we need to talk about him going into danger and leaving a helpless mate behind.”  
  
It took Harry a moment to realize that Draco was _really_ talking about himself. He snorted and said, “Do you think that I’ll believe that for one moment? You’re not helpless. You’ve already proved it.” He tugged a little on one of Draco’s wings by way of a demonstration.  
  
“I would be helpless if you died and left me behind.”  
  
Harry blinked in surprise. Draco had never mentioned that before, and it wasn’t something they had covered in Testig’s class, or even in the history one when they were still only talking about mates and romance. “What?”  
  
“I would be helpless,” said Draco flatly, and turned so that he was looking into Harry’s eyes. “Paralyzed with grief, unable to take care of myself. Other Veela are always very understanding and try to help someone whose mate has died, but it’s only a fifty percent chance or so that I would ever recover.”  
  
“That’s—” Harry stopped. He wanted to say that he hadn’t known that, but he knew Draco knew _that_ very well. He finally said, “You didn’t mention that when I was talking about being an Auror.”  
  
“I thought they would probably deny you, so I wouldn’t need to.”  
  
Harry covered his face with one hand and groaned a little. “Draco, that’s _not_ a reason not to bring something up.”  
  
“Why? I was avoiding anger and conflict. Which is something Veela mates want to do. Even you want to do that with me, even if you want to anger a lot of other people.” Draco’s wings floated upwards a little, but then settled back down again, like huge palm fronds.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione intervened. “Even if he never becomes an Auror again, Harry should fight for the right of Veela to be Aurors. It would benefit other people.”  
  
“Harry’s spent his life fighting for other people and saving them and doing things for them they won’t do for themselves.” Draco’s voice was poison-tipped. “I think he should be allowed to relax for once.”  
  
“If he intended to relax, he wouldn’t have called on me.”  
  
“That was before I knew what was going to happen to Draco if I died.” Harry felt his feathers bristling on the back of his neck, and tried to calm them down. _When would Draco have told me? When I was actually on the verge of getting back into the Aurors?_ “I don’t know if I can be an Auror anymore, Hermione.”  
  
“That isn’t the same as saying you don’t _want_ to be.”  
  
Harry grimaced. It seemed a little unfair that he had two people in his life who would pick up on subtle nuances like that. “But I have to do lots of things I don’t want to. I can’t get everything I want.”  
  
“You shouldn’t have options taken away from you because of prejudice! Or just because someone else needs you.” Hermione glared at Draco. “Harry’s never even come close to being killed, I hope you know, Malfoy.”  
  
Harry winced. “That’s not true…”  
  
“What? I know you were in hospital last year, but you told me that was because the Healers wanted to make sure you didn’t have any side-effects from a curse that hit you. Not because you were actually in danger.”  
  
“And side-effects aren’t a danger?” Draco muttered, but luckily, he muttered it to the back of Harry’s neck. Harry appreciated his efforts to keep the peace, doomed though they probably were.  
  
“They were looking for that, yes,” Harry said. “They were just also, um, making sure that my intestines were all tucked back in the right order.”  
  
Draco’s hands tightened around Harry, but more to the point, his wings did, forming a pearly cocoon that meant Harry couldn’t see Hermione anymore and could hardly hear her. Her betrayal came through clearly, though, and Harry knew what the words would be whether or not he could hear them. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”  
  
“Why didn’t Draco tell me that he would die without me?” Harry retorted, tilting his head back until he could meet and hold Draco’s eyes. He thought vaguely that he would have found the position uncomfortable before he became a Veela, but that was such a small concern next to what he felt now that he didn’t care much. “I was saving the information for when it came up. Like he was.”  
  
“You were in a lot more danger than I ever knew, then.” Hermione sounded a little calmer, and clearer. She must have moved around to the side so she could project her words through the gap where Draco’s wings parted a little. “I wish I’d known.”  
  
Harry sighed. “What would you have done, though, Hermione? You’re the one who wants everyone to be treated equally. I couldn’t be exempted from dangerous cases just because I was Harry bloody Potter. Would you have told them I shouldn’t face my share of curses and Dark wizards?”  
  
“You survived.” Draco was the one to speak next, nuzzling his way into Harry’s neck again. His wings trembled once, then drew back so Harry could see Hermione standing next to him. Harry blinked a little in the sudden dazzling inflow of light. “You survived, and you’ll never have to do anything like that again.”  
  
“Why not?” Harry asked, and subjected Draco to a glittering smile when he hesitated. “Why not, Draco?”  
  
“Because you’re not an Auror now.” Draco answered the question slowly, as if looking for traps in it. “And I’ll make sure that you never face danger again.”  
  
Harry sighed. “Not even you can stop every Dark wizard who might think to gain glory by killing me, or every aspiring duelist who thinks they have to defeat me to be a _real_ professional, or everybody who has a grudge against me from the war. I know what you mean about being depressed if I die, so I’ll try to stay safe. But I can’t live in the shelter of your wings. Just like I couldn’t when I was an Auror.”  
  
“There’s your false equivalence, again.” Hermione was glaring at him, one finger tapping on the thick roll of papers she was currently carrying. “It’s a _lot_ different to live with ordinary danger than it is being an Auror.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “But for me, ordinary danger includes things like people trying to kill me. So I might as well be an Auror because at least that way, I have the skills and the partners to protect me.”  
  
“You’re justifying being an Auror because it might _save your life_?”  
  
Harry turned back to face Draco. “It already has. There are skills I learned, like mental flexibility, that helped me in the duel with Testig.”  
  
“She wasn’t trying to kill you—”  
  
“You took it as seriously as though she would.” Harry tapped his fingers on Draco’s hand like Hermione was doing with her hand on the paper, and Draco started. Harry blinked down and found that his nails had become claws when he wasn’t looking. “And see?” Harry added, because he thought this was the right time to do it. “There are people trying to hurt me even when I’m really not in the Aurors at the moment!”  
  
“It’s not the same kind of danger.” Draco’s voice was quiet and firm, much more so than Harry had thought it would be when Harry was offering him that kind of threat, or provocation. “You know it’s not, Harry. I want you to stop reacting to our concern as if it’s a threat, itself, and _think_ about this.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes. “I know what I’ve always thought,” he said tightly. “I’ve dreamed of being an Auror since my fifth year at Hogwarts—”  
  
“I thought you said that to Professor McGonagall when she asked, but you didn’t have a plan before that.”  
  
Harry scowled at Hermione. Sometimes it was very inconvenient to have someone around who’d known him since he was eleven. “I might not have had an idea then. But I’m an Auror now. You’re asking me to give up part of my identity because of something else that I never thought would happen.”  
  
Draco said nothing, but let his head fall so that his nose was resting in Harry’s feathers. Harry closed his eyes and sighed. Draco was wonderful, and he didn’t want to give him up.  
  
But he didn’t want to give up his Auror career, either. He didn’t want to give up _anything_ else. Merlin knew that with his fame and so on, he often couldn’t have much privacy. And he couldn’t change the past and get his parents back. Why couldn’t he have both Draco and a career in the Aurors?  
  
“We’ll discuss this later, when I come back,” said Hermione, her voice gentle. She reached out and squeezed Harry’s wrist once, then stroked his fingers. Harry became aware that his claws had turned back into nails at some point. “I agree it’s not fair, but I don’t know what else to do about it right now. And I think you need to have a talk with your mate.”  
  
Harry opened his eyes in time to see her smile at him before she turned away and Apparated. Harry looked back at Draco again, but he kept his head low and avoided Harry’s gaze.  
  
“I think we really do need to talk,” said Harry grimly. When Draco didn’t move, Harry got his wings free and escorted Draco along the cliff edge until he had to spread his wings and fly or fall.   
  
Draco did follow him back to the school. But he was silent as Harry took them back to Draco’s rooms—because he thought the confrontation might be easier on Draco’s own ground—and shut the door behind them.  
  
“Now,” said Harry, standing in front of the door with his wings spread. “I want to know what else you haven’t told me about being a Veela.”  
  
Draco finally looked up again, although even then his glance was fleeting. “There’s a lot,” he said.  
  
“I have time.”  
  
And finally, Draco began to speak, and Harry to listen.


	23. An Open-Ended Request

“There are lots of things about Veela that you don’t know. Things I could tell you, but I didn’t because they really aren’t important. Or because I knew you would learn them in class soon.”  
  
Harry watched Draco pace, with his wings arrayed around him like huge banks of flowers. “That’s fine,” he said. “I understand you can’t tell me everything. You might forget some things, and you don’t want to step on the professors’ toes.”  
  
“You understand?” Draco turned to him with a face so bright that Harry winced before he could stop himself. “Then—”  
  
“I understand that about small things,” Harry interrupted. “But what I asked about wasn’t something small. It should have been mentioned the first time I talked about wanting to go back to Auror work. Why didn’t you tell me that doing that could _kill_ you?”  
  
Draco frowned and looked away. “Because you kept telling me about how many people had always tried to control your life. I didn’t want to do the same thing. I mean—I knew that you would probably forgive me, but it’s pretty controlling, isn’t it, to say right away, ‘And you shouldn’t take any risks, because you could cause my death.’”  
  
Harry didn’t answer. That did make sense. But something else was preying on his mind now, and when Draco began to turn back to him with another smile, as if hoping they had got past the worst of it, he said, “Then you didn’t play by the same rules.”  
  
“I should _hope_ that I wasn’t playing by the rules of people who were trying to control your bloody life!”  
  
“No,” Harry said, barely managing not to roll his eyes. “Not what I meant. You broke the rules and put yourself in danger when you went after the Dursleys. Someone could have harmed you. Muggles who had no idea what a Veela was. Maybe even an overzealous Auror or Hit Wizard who thought you were some kind of attacking magical creature.”  
  
Draco’s small feathers were standing on edge all over his wings now, like a cat’s hair on the ridge of its spine. It would have been funny if Harry hadn’t been so upset about Draco’s blatant hypocrisy. “You can’t—”  
  
“Can’t I?” Harry folded his arms. He felt both weary and exasperated. He had given Draco chances, and still things like this happened. “Listen, Draco. We’re in this together. That’s what you kept telling me at first, but now I find you’ve been ignoring a huge ‘rule’ all the time, and it is _annoying_.” He brought his wings in on the downbeat of that word, finding huge satisfaction in the way Draco flinched and leaped, his own wings fanning out. “So. Either you avoid danger in the future, just like me, and you care more about protecting my life than avenging my honor, or you explain to me why going after the Dursleys for you is different than going into danger as an Auror is for me. You have ten seconds to start,” he added, because he thought, at the moment, that Draco’s dangling jaw might dangle for a while.  
  
Draco used nine of them gaping at him and swinging his wings back and forth as if they might give him an answer. Harry was opening his mouth to comment on it, when Draco finally said, “I _have_ to be able to attack your enemies. It’s the only way that I can defend you and, yes, avenge your honor.”  
  
Harry moved a step forwards. “Then I have to be able to defend you.”  
  
“I never said you couldn’t.”  
  
“And I have to be able to defend myself.”  
  
“That’s different than being an Auror and arrogantly seeking out people to challenge.” Draco’s large feathers were standing on end now. Harry snorted, which brought Draco towards him in a rush that stopped when Harry turned a sardonic eye on him. Draco seemed to struggle with his thoughts for a second, and then flung out a sharp hand. “It _is_.”  
  
“But with the enemies I have, then people might still come after me and you. Especially once they find out that you’re my mate.” Harry folded his arms, thought about some of the threats he’d received in the past, and then added, “No, they _will_ come after me and you. So why didn’t you consider that kind of thing when you flung yourself into battle?”  
  
Draco did some more glaring. Harry looked at him, still standing with his wings spread in front of the door. He’d moved away a little when he realized what a hypocrite Draco had been with his attack on the Dursleys, but not _that_ far, and now Draco had to decide what the hell he was going to do.  
  
“It was instinct,” Draco said finally. “You can’t tell me that you behave instinctively as an Auror the way I behave instinctively as a Veela.”  
  
 _Arrogant little pissant_ , Harry thought. “The kind of training they put us through does become bloody near instinctive. And that doesn’t excuse it. You could say the same thing about any instinct I might have to defend you, and I reckon you still wouldn’t excuse it in the same way. So. Cough up an answer. What’s different about you being in danger from me being in danger?”  
  
Draco’s feathers had flattened again, but his face showed how caught he was between emotions. Harry had to grin at him. He’d felt damn uncomfortable, even ill, when he realized that going back to his job could put Draco in danger. So now Draco got to experience it.  
  
Draco finally looked away and muttered something. Even with his hearing—which Harry thought had improved since he became a Veela—Harry couldn’t make out what he’d said.  
  
“I’m sorry, what was that? You need to go slower and use smaller words. Remember, I’m just your stupid mate that you think you can fool.”  
  
Draco gave a growling noise and jumped straight at him. Harry, utterly stunned, caught him and staggered under his weight, only for Draco to snap into his face, “I won’t listen to you say that about yourself. _No one_ has the right to disparage my mate. Not even my mate himself.”  
  
And then he slammed his mouth into Harry’s and grabbed his ears as if he thought Harry would manage to withdraw.  
  
Harry had to kiss him back, with the heat flaring everywhere between them and all around, so thick that Harry felt as though someone had slammed his hands into the stove at the Dursleys’ again, the way he had once when he was small. But this was sweet fire, not punishing, curling around his limbs and tugging him towards the bed the way he’d been tugged the other day when they’d got each other off—  
  
Harry fought free. He knew suddenly what Draco was doing, or what had almost happened. He dodged when Draco reached for him again.  
  
Draco stared at him, shaking his head a little. “Harry, what are you _doing?_ I know you want this.”  
  
Yes, even without any special sense of the bond between mates, Harry reckoned that much was pretty obvious. He set his feet, though, and dodged again when Draco reached for him. “No, Draco. Think about this. _Think_ ,” he added, when Draco opened his mouth to say something.  
  
Draco stopped moving, but Harry didn’t think he was thinking, either. He only waited, his wings stirring slow blasts of shimmering air around them. A croon was building in his throat, even though he didn’t utter it.  
  
“You can’t use sex to get out of serious discussions,” Harry said, and regretted using the word when he saw the way Draco’s eyes flared. _Like sunlight on water this time,_ Harry thought inanely as Draco reached out a hand. He almost couldn’t bring himself to dodge it, but he did. _That bright_.  
  
“I wasn’t—trying to do that.” Draco sounded a little calmer than before, but his wings still beat without him seeming aware of them, and he watched Harry, ready to leap like a hawk on prey. “I only wanted to make you feel good.”  
  
“I know. But you need to think about this. Do we both risk our lives? Or neither? Because that’s the only way it’ll work.”  
  
Draco slid his hands down to his kneecaps and bent over. His wings meant Harry could no longer see his face. But he controlled his own impatience to do that, biting his lip so hard that he could feel blood trickling down his chin. He only hoped the sight wouldn’t distract Draco. They needed to have this conversation more than anything else.  
  
“I want to protect you,” Draco finally said, in the tone of someone saying, “Gravity exists.”  
  
“And I want to do the same thing,” Harry said instantly. “But that’s different from saying that it’s an instinctive Veela thing, and that we have no choice but to launch ourselves into danger the minute something happens.”  
  
Draco’s wings twitched and then fell back to his sides. He stood up. The flush had faded from his face. He looked like he was actually concentrating on his words. Harry approved.  
  
“This is the truth. I want to protect you. And I think I’ll do it better because you just—fling yourself straight ahead and don’t plan at all. You do things that could get you killed. You put yourself in danger just _because._ You would risk everything to protect another person, even if they weren’t your friend or they were annoying you at the moment.”  
  
Harry stared at him. Draco seemed to think he’d made his point, which only proved the special Veela bond between them didn’t tell him the truth of _all_ Harry’s emotions. “You’re hard,” Draco added, with the words that warbled and trilled at the edges, and took a step forwards. “We should do something about that.”  
  
“You utter and absolute prick.”  
  
Draco stopped. Harry wasn’t sure if it was the words that stopped him, or the tone, which was soft and, Harry knew, probably affectionate. “What?”  
  
“You just flung yourself straight at the Dursleys and didn’t plan at all. You did things that could have got you killed, especially if one of the Muggles had had a powerful weapon along.” Harry wasn’t sure how much Draco knew about guns. “You put yourself in danger just because. After all, the Dursleys abused me years ago—”  
  
“You admit it was abuse! You admit they should die!”  
  
Draco had a kind of shimmering shine around him that Harry eyed uneasily. It was the sort of corona that he thought could burst into flames at any moment. “I’m not admitting anything,” he snapped back. “They shouldn’t die for something that happened years ago. But it happened years ago, that was my point. I have wounds from Testig that are a lot more recent than anything they gave me, but you didn’t go after _her_.”  
  
Draco paused, then shook his head like someone who had water in his ear. “That was in the formal structure of a duel—”  
  
“So were some of the things Snape did to us in sixth year, but that didn’t make them hurt any less.”  
  
“Professor Snape hurt you, too?”  
  
“You’re getting distracted.” Harry took a deep breath and tried to speak in a soothing tone, for Draco’s sake. The last thing he wanted Draco dwelling on was insults years old and mental wounds inflicted by someone years dead. “Listen to me. You have more control over the way you attack people to defend me than you were pretending. And you took risks to protect me, too. I didn’t even know if I wanted to mate with you at the time. But what did you do? Dashed off to attack the Dursleys. I tried to stop you. You knew I didn’t want you to. You ignored me.”  
  
Draco fluffed his wings out again. “I ignored you because it was right that they should suffer as repayment,” he muttered.  
  
“ _I_ don’t think so.”  
  
Draco glared at him. “But you would never think so unless they did something to someone else.”  
  
Harry could see he wouldn’t get anywhere pursuing _that_ line of argument. So he changed it. “You care about what I want?”  
  
Draco lowered his head and stared at Harry as if he was waiting for the trap in his words, but he evidently didn’t find it. He finally nodded. “And I care if you’re in danger, of course,” he added.  
  
“Of course,” Harry replied soothingly. “But if you care about what I want, you should care about me not wanting the Dursleys hurt. Or the Healers. Or the professors, if they do something else you think hurts me and it doesn’t result in a duel.”  
  
Draco shifted back and forth on his feet, from heels to toes, and finally lowered his head and grumbled, “Who does that leave me free to attack?”  
  
“Not many people,” Harry had to admit. “But can you understand what I mean when I say that I don’t _want_ you to attack any of them? I just—I want _both_ of us to be safe. And I want it to be fair.”  
  
Draco put that into his own words while Harry was still thinking about how to do it. “You want us both to obey the same rules, or it’s not fair.”  
  
“Exactly.” Harry reached out with one wing and stroked Draco’s cheek with the feathery edge for that.  
  
Draco was squinting and frowning, apparently trying hard not to look pleased. “You can’t get around me like that, though,” he said, as if Harry was deliberately trying. “You can’t just say that and settle the argument.”  
  
“No,” said Harry. “But if you’ll agree that we both need to be more careful about the trouble we get into and how we fight, then that’ll be enough for now.”  
  
Draco paused and rocked back and forth on his feet again. Then he inclined his head and muttered something that sounded like, “Fine.”  
  
“Thank you.” Harry kissed him on the cheek and moved aside so Draco could get to the door. If he wanted to leave, Harry couldn’t blame him.  
  
But Draco only lingered where he stood, watching Harry with a frown. “What are you going to do about putting your life in danger?”  
  
“It probably isn’t going to come up with the Aurors, unfortunately.” Harry sighed, an exhaustion he hadn’t acknowledged when he was talking to Hermione dropping on him. “No matter what Hermione wants, the Aurors aren’t going to accept me back.”  
  
Draco opened his mouth in the prelude to a screech. Harry held up a quick hand. “Not because I think she’ll lose the case, but because it would be suicide for me to go out with a grudging partner.”  
  
“Partner with Weasley, then.”  
  
“Thanks for showing that you appreciate Ron’s value.” Harry had to grin at the way Draco rolled his eyes. “But I can’t just stay with Ron all the time. The Aurors are cooperative hunters. If I kept refusing to work with other people, it would get noticed and condemned pretty bloody quickly.”  
  
Draco suddenly snapped his wings out. Harry leaped and looked around for the threat, but there was nothing there. Only empty bedroom. Harry turned back, knowing his eyes were questioning.  
  
“Cooperative hunters, you say?”  
  
“Well, yes. I always thought of myself as hunting Dark wizards, and the whole point of Auror training is how to work with other people and learn the laws and procedures and the ways Dark wizards act against you…”  
  
Harry let his voice trail off. He could see that he was still not really getting Draco’s point. Draco leaned forwards with his eyes so filled with malevolent glee that Harry had to control the urge to flinch.   
  
“But Veela can also be cooperative hunters,” Draco purred. “That’s the way that some who don’t want to associate with humans still live, in fact. Not in groups and partnerships that are constantly changing, but in pairs that hunt together. They protect their territory and their families and keep them safe.”  
  
“Right,” said Harry slowly. He didn’t want to try and damp down Draco’s excitement _too_ quickly, but he did have to point one thing out. “But you see, that’s not the same as what I’m trained to do.”  
  
“Name one thing that’s different. Besides the size of the group.”  
  
“I don’t have a territory or family to defend. I have to go wherever there are Dark wizards and act to bring them down. I don’t think I can just restrict myself to a small area and protecting a single group of people and be happy.”  
  
Draco laughed. Harry had to admit that at the sound, a thrill danced through him, even though he had no intention of agreeing so soon. “But that just means expanding our instincts a little. Until you think of all the people who you want to help as your family and the British Isles as your territory. Or even more than that.”  
  
Harry felt his heart bound. And then he thought of the paperwork and the rules and restrictions and the Healers and the Wizengamot, and he sighed. “We might hunt them down, but we would never get them arrested. The Aurors don’t accept arrests by people who act on their own.”  
  
“But they accept people holding Dark wizards at bay until they get there?”  
  
“Well. Yes. We always encouraged people to learn to defend themselves, and—”  
  
Draco went blithely on, trampling all over Harry’s careful words. “Then they have to accept us doing the same thing. Or just chasing Dark wizards away from the targets they’d trying to get to, or saving the people they want to harm. They can’t have any objection to that.”  
  
Harry stared. Draco actually came forwards after a minute and slid his wing worriedly out to brush against Harry’s jaw, his feathers a soft prickling touch. “Harry?”  
  
Harry grabbed him and spun him around. Draco squawked, his wings flaring out again. Harry put him down then and laughed. Laughed loud and long, making Draco look at him in indulgence that turned to irritation.  
  
“Well?” Draco demanded finally.  
  
“That’s the perfect solution. Of _course_ it is. It lets me do all the things I love about Auror work and none of the things that I really dislike, even.” Harry grinned at him. “I could kiss you for that.”  
  
“Absolutely _no_ one,” said Draco, with a little snap of his wings, “is stopping you.”  
  
Harry blinked and stared at him, and then moved forwards and grabbed Draco again. Draco tilted his head back and looked Harry straight in the eye, a more seductive glance than any fluttering lashes.  
  
Harry didn’t resist the thrill that ran through him this time, and leaned into the kiss.  
  



	24. In a Mess With Wings

“How do we _do_ this?”  
  
Harry had to tear his lips away from Draco’s to speak, which made Draco whine in frustration. On the other hand, Harry was about ready to _shriek_ with frustration, and he thought that meant he had priority.  
  
They had tumbled onto the bed. That had gone pretty well. They’d rolled around patting and kissing and stroking and nipping, and Draco had told Harry in gasps what he liked, and if Harry was too shy to say that aloud, well, he’d gripped Draco’s wrist and steered his hand to several places, and that seemed to serve well in the absence of words.  
  
But then Harry had wanted to put Draco on his back so he could suck him. Or maybe start to get him ready for something else. Harry hadn’t known which. The _important_ thing was, he had wanted Draco on his back.  
  
Only the moment he tried to put him there, Draco’s wings flared out, and Draco rolled to the side. Even that was uncomfortable, though, because he was lying with one wing pinned beneath him. And then Draco flared his wings back, and that would have been okay, except that Harry got a mouthful of feathers when he tried to kiss him.  
  
“How do Veela do this?” Harry demanded, staring at Draco. He tried to picture other ways. The problem was, he would suffer the same pain as Draco if _he_ lay on his side or on his back, and the last time when he’d been on his stomach and Draco had crouched over him was as awkward as all hell.  
  
Draco laughed and kissed him, his wings flapping slowly around him. Harry reached up to push one away, but Draco did it for him, his eyes dark with amusement and his hand stretching out to let his fingers play over Harry’s cheeks. Harry finally relaxed as he felt the soothing warmth come through Draco’s hand.  
  
And the light they had gained in Malfoy Manor, their courtship gift, was shining around them, too. It was hard to be disconcerted or upset when it was there, Harry had found.  
  
“Shhh,” Draco breathed. “Did you think that Veela didn’t have a solution for this? Or two mates could never have sex with each other?”  
  
“If we have to do it with you on your stomach all the time—”  
  
“There’s also the option of _you_ on your stomach,” Draco pointed out, his voice sparking with challenge. The warmth stopped coming through the hand he had on Harry’s cheek.  
  
Harry opened his eyes and kissed Draco again, a little desperately. Draco gave in only until Harry tried to push him back. Then he shook his head and sat up.  
  
“There’s another way. Unless you’re sure that you wouldn’t rather have me on my stomach for the first time, because that would probably be a little more comfortable for the both of us?”  
  
Harry’s wings rattled as he realized what Draco was implying about the first time, and what he intended to do. But he nodded. “I’m sure. I want to look into your face. Maybe not later, but this time.”  
  
Draco’s voice thickened as he sighed, his wings spreading out a little. “You _do_ know how to be seductive when you want to, Harry Potter.”  
  
Harry blinked and then gave Draco an uncertain smile, hoping that was a good thing. He didn’t know what was seductive about the pure truth, since he’d never tried to seduce someone before.   
  
“There’s a way.” Draco stood up and floated gracefully to the floor, letting his wings help him. “But we need to take off our clothes before we try it. It sure as hell won’t work if we’re in the middle of it when we start.”  
  
Harry went to work with his hands and a will. Draco did sigh and throw back his head when Harry paused to nibble on his shoulder in the middle of undressing him, though. But again he pressed his hands down on the back of Harry’s neck and shook his head when Harry mindlessly tried to shove him towards the bed.  
  
“ _Later_ , Harry. Are you listening?”  
  
Harry pulled his head back with a pout, and noticed the way Draco flushed while he stared at him in interest. Something else to explore later, probably, along with the seductive effects of truth.  
  
But in the meantime, Harry’s cock and desire were both getting to the edge of recklessness. He made Draco wince and hiss as he pulled his pants off, and kissed his hip in apology. Then he hesitated. It would certainly _also_ work to have Draco sit on the edge of the bed, his wings raised up so no trailing feathers got pinched, and have Harry kneel between his legs…  
  
“Later,” Draco said, in a voice so amused it would have infuriated Harry once.  
  
But now he was only grateful that Draco was so in tune with him. He smiled at him and sat down on the edge of the bed himself when Draco told him to, his wings flaring and flexing and relaxing and crimping. Draco stroked his feathers for a moment, letting the warmth flow through his hand, then took up his wand.  
  
“We’ll do it other ways other times,” he promised. “But right now, I can’t wait.” And he cast a spell Harry had never heard before, while Harry blinked and tried to look intelligent and like he knew what Draco was talking about.  
  
A second later, Draco gasped and bent at the waist. Harry thought for a second that it was a spell to make Draco feel pleasure, and his jealousy surged. But Draco shook his head and turned his back, wings lifting again, and Harry saw the gleaming wetness around the—the thing he would soon put his cock in.  
  
“Oh,” he breathed, and reached out a hand before he could stop himself, trailing a single fingernail through the slickness of the conjured lube.  
  
“I thought it was a good idea,” Draco said. “Because some things need to be easier for the first time, since others won’t.” He turned around, wings slowly flapping, and taking on that edge of light that they were almost never without, now.  
  
Harry took a second to lean back, at least until his own wings started protesting, and really _look_ at him. Draco was longer and leaner than Harry had expected; he didn’t look as tall as he really was with clothes on. Or maybe that was partially the wings that crowned him and swept around his head, bright and spiky.  
  
Draco had a few scars that Harry thought might be from the war, or the _Sectumsempra_ spell. When he touched them, though, there was no blame in Draco’s voice, only a violent shudder of pleasure.  
  
“Now, come on,” Draco gasped at last, and maneuvered him back a little. Harry moved as easily as he could, finally sitting with his legs folded and his wings raised away from the bed.  
  
Then Draco climbed up and carefully arranged himself, and Harry knew what he was going to do.  
  
“Oh, bloody _hell_.”  
  
Draco smiled and sank down onto his lap, his smile fading as he adjusted to the burn of Harry’s cock going into him. Harry had to grab his own hand in his teeth. It was _strange_ , and the strangeness of it mingled with the good feelings, until he felt as if he might burst out swearing.  
  
“Good,” Draco blurted at last, and then began to move forwards, his hands reaching out to hang onto Harry’s shoulders. Harry grabbed his elbows, and felt a soft tickling touch on his legs as Draco’s wings moved out behind him. He looked more like a butterfly than a bird now, with the position he had to hold them in.  
  
“Are you sure that’s comfortable?”  
  
“A little late now for guilt, Harry.” Draco opened his eyes. They had gone so shiny a silver that they looked metallic. “And yes, we can work on it later, but for now…” He paused, and then a pulse of warmth ran through Harry that was like the time when Draco had slid his fingers between Harry’s feathers.  
  
“Okay,” Harry hissed, and bowed his head, still frantically shivering. “Right, then. Here we go.”  
  
He began to thrust into Draco, and Draco moved with him, and they rocked hard enough at first almost to fall off the edge of the bed. Harry beat his wings and whacked Draco in the side of the head when he tried instinctively to keep himself from tumbling to the floor, and Draco rolled his eyes in a way more eloquent than any lecture and pushed with his heels and primaries.  
  
In short order they were back in the right place, and Draco pushed the pace along when he squeezed down and Harry found himself thrusting raggedly, without a plan. Draco chuckled and trailed his fingers down Harry’s shoulders, around in a rough circle.  
  
“It’s so good,” Draco whispered, “that first time with a man. I can’t wait to do it to you.”  
  
Harry grabbed his arms and made sure they wouldn’t fall off the bed again. His mind buzzed with images; his skin rang with his heartbeat.  
  
If he thought about it too much, or if he concentrated too much on Draco’s words, he would come. He didn’t want to do that yet. He thought, instead, about how wonderful Draco felt, and the inevitable squeeze, and how it was to thrust up and then drag himself back, his hips already getting ready for another thrust…  
  
Draco began to utter a low chant of mingled gasps and moans that urged Harry endlessly on. He thought it sounded like the beginning of a spell, but one that never ended, either, that went on and on the way they did, and began to roll to a higher point as they did.  
  
Harry’s veins burned. His wings did, too, with the position he was having to hold them in, and the way he was trying to avoid beating them, because that would tire him faster. Draco, after a moment when he had whacked Harry over the head with _his_ , was doing better, partially because he had more room to slowly flap them in.  
  
And then Draco shuddered and clamped down with a viciousness that Harry would never have believed an arse capable of, and he leaned in and wrapped his wings around both of them even as he kissed Harry.  
  
Harry arched up. It seemed to him that he never came back to earth after that. The light danced and raced him upwards, his wings thundered as if he was a dragon, and the pleasure was shaking him until he didn’t remember how to get down even if he wanted to.  
  
 _The only thing that would be better is mating as we fly._  
  
The thought teased Harry, and he wanted to give another shudder, spend some more. But he couldn’t. He became aware, at last, that he was leaning forwards, into Draco’s embrace, and Draco was fighting, with small twitches and flaps, not to fall off him and back.  
  
“Don’t push me off the bed,” Draco whispered, sounding tired. “I’m so exhausted I would fall, and I don’t have the strength to fly.”  
  
Harry kissed him soundly, with less of the divine edge to it this time, and nodded. His throat was too worn and abraded for words. He pulled Draco gently to the side and slid out of him with a motion that tore a groan from them both. Then he reached for his wand and cast the gentlest Cleaning Charms he knew.  
  
Draco had said something about wanting to prepare himself differently next time. And Harry would indulge in a shower the next time with Draco, too. Or after the next time. But right now, his legs were so wobbly and his hips ached so much that Harry doubted they would support him across the room. Flying wasn’t an option, either, the way his wings felt.  
  
Draco didn’t object to the Cleaning Charms, luckily, just leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder. He looked as exhausted as Harry felt. He didn’t object when Harry ran a hand through his hair, either, or pressed a kiss behind his ear. All he did was close his eyes and sigh and appear sated, a faint smile curving his lips the more Harry kissed him and stroked him.  
  
“What?” Harry finally asked. He blinked. His voice was hoarse. Well, there were probably some grunts and other noises he couldn’t remember.   
  
“You’re preening me.”  
  
Harry glared. “You make it sound like something non-Veela never do.” But he did remember snuggling close with other—not mates, lovers, although those had all been women. If he’d had to guess, he would have supposed men didn’t like to touch each other like this.  
  
Which fit better into Draco’s theory about this being preening than into his “human” theory, he had to admit. _Damn it._  
  
“Don’t stop, I like it,” said Draco, and tilted his head back to give Harry a lazy smile. “One thing we should talk about, though, is how we’re going to make this work. Are you going to help me learn more about Auror work, or are we going to lean on Veela natural instincts? Will the Ministry accept this once they learn that you’re resigning and going to work this way?”  
  
Harry sighed. He felt sleepy and contented and didn’t want to talk about this now, but he understood why Draco wanted to. They had one kind of future as mates; the way they could have such spectacular sex showed that. But this was another kind of future, or another strand to it.  
  
He pinned Draco to the bed and nosed his way through several small clusters of feathers before he deigned to respond. Draco only tipped his head to let him do it, his gaze fixed endlessly, patiently, on Harry.  
  
“I think the Aurors are expecting my resignation,” Harry said finally. “Which only makes me not want to give it to them.”  
  
Draco chuckled expectantly, and waited some more. Harry sighed and admitted, “But I think I will. And I’ll find out more about the ways that—I forget what they’re called, consultants or aides, something like that. But I’ll find out about the way they work with the Aurors, and what makes them acceptable, instead of people the Aurors don’t want to know. At least, we’ll get some _great_ publicity.”  
  
“From your efforts, or Granger’s?” Draco’s voice was soft and smooth.  
  
“Well, my name,” Harry said, and felt a stiffness creep into Draco’s muscles. He hunched back a little. “Do you not like that? I’m sorry, but I can’t help the way people react to me.”  
  
“No,” said Draco with a long sigh, and rolled over to kiss Harry until he felt as if he were drowning. “It’s just when you talk about your fame, I remember the way you said that people tried to control your life and didn’t want to give you any choice about who you dated or fell in love with. It makes me want to kill them.”  
  
Harry tightened his hold on Draco’s arms. “Can Veela mates have different levels of protective instincts?” he asked cautiously, hoping the question wouldn’t upset Draco. “I mean, I want you safe, and I would immediately fight someone who was threatening you, but I don’t want to kill people when I think about them.”  
  
Draco did some more sighing, and rolled so that his head was nestled on Harry’s chest. “They can,” he said finally. “And you haven’t actually seen me in danger yet, while I’ve heard about the way your relatives treated you and the way random people in the wizarding world treated you.” He hesitated. “What comes to mind when you think about Voldemort ordering me to torture the Death Eaters?”  
  
Harry felt a sharp, strange sensation in his fingertips, and looked down in surprise. His nails had transformed into claws, and he hadn’t even realized it. He turned his hand back and forth a little, staring at them.  
  
“Exactly,” said Draco, and closed his eyes with a relieved sigh. “Then you still want to protect me. I wondered.”  
  
“I can’t want to protect you without _also_ wanting to tear someone’s head off?” Harry muttered in disgust, but he went back to preening Draco with his lips while he waited for his claws to return to normal fingernails. It didn’t take long once he was thinking about it; they shimmered and shrank, although Harry, looking sideways at them, thought they still had more of a curve to them than they normally had.  
  
“I like it when you have all the instincts I do. That makes us more equal.”  
  
Harry kissed the side of his neck. “Then I apologize for not wanting to tear someone’s head off all the time.”  
  
Draco rolled his head back and closed his eyes. “It’s all right,” he said magnanimously, in the kind of tone that meant he was _aware_ of his magnanimity. “I forgive you.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes and settled against Draco in a way that made him chirp, and they left the discussion of the future for tomorrow.  
  



	25. Ringed

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Five—Ringed_

“Come with me, Malfoy, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes as Testig swept past them in the dining hall and spoke to them out of the corner of her mouth. Even though she was friendlier now than she had been, she still spoke abruptly and had no hesitation about summoning them away from lunch.

As they stood up, Harry looked at Draco out of the corner of his eye, wondering if Draco knew why she would have done this. He saw the way Draco’s face was turning as red as desert dust and paused.

“What?”

“Come on, we have to,” Draco muttered, and hurried out of the dining hall with his wings raised as if he wanted to shield his expression. Harry left after him, looking around. The other Veela had paid attention to them for only a minute before they turned away.

_Politely._ Too _politely._

Harry hid a groan as he trotted after Testig. He could have lived without yet another Odd Veela Thing that everyone but him knew about until it actually came up.

Testig halted in a small antechamber that Harry hadn’t had class in; he thought it might be a kind of room for visitors, since it had comfortable couches and a plate that one could press to call house-elves. She turned around then and shook her wings briskly at them. Harry saw that she was trying to hide a grin. He blinked and relaxed a little.

“You’re free to do what you like, of course,” said Testig, and cocked her head. “But didn’t you think announcing it in the dining hall was a bit crass?”

“Announcing what?” Harry turned to Draco and folded his arms. He was sure Draco knew now what this was about, and had probably even known before Testig approached them, but Draco ducked his head. “We promised we were going to be honest,” Harry told him. Even _he_ was impressed at how ominous he’d made his own voice.

Draco sighed mournfully and peered at Testig out of the corner of his eye. She stared back at him. Draco turned and raised his wings, flapping them a little when Harry started to open his mouth in protest. “Just look, Harry.”

Harry did, although to him Draco’s wings seemed the same as always. They were white, shading at the edges into silver, and there were the black bars that proclaimed his color and the blue bars that proclaimed his compatibility with Harry—

Then Harry jumped. He could have sworn before that the blue bars were distributed randomly, and there were only a few of them. Now—he grew sure of it as he moved forwards and grabbed the edge of Draco’s wing to stretch it out and see—there were a lot more of the blue bars, and they were arranged in a huge circle around the biggest of the black bars.

“This is the Veela mating ring,” said Testig primly, folding her arms. “It’s one reason that mates don’t give each other rings for the finger the way most wizards do.”

“So everyone can tell by looking at our wings that we’ve had sex?” Harry promptly tried to flare his wings out and look at them from the side, but even though he could tell there were more black bars than before, he couldn’t see what kind of pattern they might have arranged themselves in.

“It means that you’ve finally accepted the mating bond.” When Harry turned around, it was to see Testig studying him with a grin she was doing her best to hide. “I didn’t know that you’d sex until you announced it just _now_ , though.”

Harry groaned and hid his head in his hands. He thought he knew now what Draco had done. He’d kept his wings folded most of the morning, since there’d been no occasion to spread them in the classes they had that day, but when they sat down in the dining hall, he’d spread his wings and turned to preen them.

And a few people _had_ got quiet just then…

Harry sat up and glared at Draco, who looked innocently back. His flush seemed to have disappeared the instant Testig told Harry what the ring meant. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“It was something I honestly forgot about until I saw it in the mirror this morning,” Draco said, with a shrug. “And then I thought it might put people off from approaching you for a while. No one would try to explain it to you among the students because it’s not considered polite. What _is_ polite is to give the newly-mated couple space.”

“That was not well done of you, Mr. Malfoy.” Harry had to blink to hear Testig’s disapproving tone directed at someone besides him. “If you and your mate have made a bargain to be honest, you should keep to it.”

“Aren’t Veela mates _usually_ honest with each other?” Harry couldn’t say what had prompted him to ask that, but he knew from the subtle nod Testig gave him that she was a little impressed.

“That is a matter for the pair of mates to decide. There’s no cultural consensus on it. In cases where a Veela mates with a human and the human doesn’t care to enter our culture or understand our customs, then there’s some lying by omission and by definition. It would only distress the human to know everything.”

Harry stood tall. He thought he understood now where some of Testig’s doubts about _him_ came from. That didn’t mean he would let them persist. “I would always want to understand. What frustrated me was being treated as though my ignorance was some kind of disgusting skin disease I’d caused on purpose. And could pass on to other people,” he added, thinking about it.

“Surely not a _disgusting_ skin disease,” Testig murmured, but when Harry continued to glare at her, she relented. “Well. Yes. We did think that you might be planning to abandon the school and your mate as soon as your training to control your powers was complete.”

Harry shook his head violently. “I would never have done that.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Draco’s voice was the cold one now, blowing over Harry’s skin like a wind off ice.

Harry turned towards him with a chirp, but even though the light of their courtship gift began to sparkle on Draco’s wings and hands, he still didn’t look appeased. Harry sighed and leaned against him. “Not when I started to understand,” he said. “And not when I started to feel the connection to you. But I needed that. If it was just someone feeling a connection to me…”

“Then you start to think that it’s the same as everyone else who’s ever claimed to feel a connection to you,” Draco said, and bowed his head like a preening parrot to let Harry reach the back of his neck. “Yes.”

“Yes,” Harry echoed back, and Draco started to bend towards him with a far different purpose in his eyes. The only thing that stopped Harry from responding enthusiastically was Testig clearing her throat behind them.

When Harry faced her, he saw her fighting another grin. He supposed another thing he had begun to understand were the lines around the corners of her eyes and how they indicated amusement, instead of contempt, the way he’d assumed at first.

“So. We need to start working with you as a fully-bonded pair, instead of one that’s in the earlier stages of bonding.” Testig cocked her head, and Harry was reminded irresistibly of some of the sparrows who used to study him when he worked in the Dursleys’ front garden. “That means moving you into one new class.”

“What’s this one?” Harry asked. He knew he sounded a little apprehensive, or Draco wouldn’t have nuzzled him the way he did in the next moment.

He refused to consider that he might have sounded more apprehensive than he really was, precisely _so_ Draco would do that.

“It’s known as Mated Pairs,” said Testig, and moved her wings back and forth in a crisscross pattern. “Professor Grunnell teaches it. But it means that you’re going to have to work harder with each other, to combine your magic instead of keeping it separate.”

“Does that mean…”

Harry had no idea what question Draco was trying to ask, but Testig evidently did, because she eyed Draco tolerantly and nodded. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy. You will indeed be able to use your partner’s special powers once your training is complete, and he can use yours. So you can use the Shriek.”

Draco was smiling, and had started flapping his wings without even seeming to realize he was doing it. It caused a small and irritating breeze on the back of Harry’s head that was blowing his hair around, so he reached out, pressed Draco’s wings shut, and asked, “Are there any powers that can’t be shared?”

Testig shook her head. “Not that I can think of. Of course, Professor Grunnell is the one in charge of teaching it, not me. Ask her.”

Harry nodded, although in truth, he wasn’t sure he would find the courage to ask Professor Grunnell if he could share Draco’s power of sensing sexual status and making his partner feel good with a touch to the wings. It was precarious enough as it was, the settling bond between them.

“If you want to go and meet with Professor Grunnell now,” Testig added, “that might be a good idea. She’ll have heard the gossip already, but it’s always a good sign when a newly-bonded pair takes proactive steps.”

Harry started to bristle a little, but Draco settled everything, and not the way Harry had expected. He reached out, draped a wing across Harry’s shoulders, and smiled at Testig. “Thank you, professor, but I think it’s more worthwhile for us to finish our lunch. My mate didn’t eat much for breakfast this morning.”

Testig’s eyes widened, and Harry winced, thinking that they’d managed to get on her bad side again just after they’d emerged from it. But then Testig actually gave them a little bow, her wings lifting around them and flapping down once. “Then I shall leave you to manage your eating and your mate,” she said, and drifted down the corridor.

Harry gave Draco a thoughtful glance sideways. “That better include permission for me to ‘manage’ you, too.”

“Why, Harry,” Draco said as he turned them back towards the dining hall, his wings spread as widely as possible and his voice on the verge of a warble, “I thought you already had. During the activities that led to our becoming mates, finally.”

So everyone in the dining hall got treated to a vision not only of Draco’s spread wings and the ring-like bars on them, but also to Harry blushing as though Draco had been groping him right there. Draco laughed wickedly. Harry couldn’t do much but glare at the moment and plot eventual revenge.

When Draco looked at him winsomely, though, his wings cocked and the smile stealing back over his face, Harry couldn’t help but smile back.

_And to think I thought it would be horrible to have a Veela mate._

*

“Please welcome to the class our newest mated pair on the grounds of the school, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.”

Harry realized that he was half-braced for the little murmur of sound that usually accompanied his name when he was introduced to a new group, and relaxed when he didn’t hear it. These Veela had probably spent most of their time around their own kind and weren’t as impressed by a mere famous wizard.

 _On the other hand_ , he thought, as he watched their narrowed eyes and the fanning wings of a few Veela in the group, _that probably means they’re likely to despise me for not growing up that way._

He concealed a sigh. Somewhere in the world, there were probably people who received mostly neutral introductions to groups. Harry wished with all his might that he was one of them.

But for now, all he could do was nod and murmur in response to Professor Grunnell’s introduction and then sit down at one of a pair of desks on the far side of the room. This was the first classroom he’d seen that had traditional furniture instead of cushions or pillows on the floor, or large couches.

Or just none at all, like Professor Helios’s flying classroom.

Harry turned to Draco. He was sitting beside Harry, bolt upright, his hands folded on the desk and a pleasant smile on his face. He probably looked normal to the other Veela; the ones who were still staring at them instead of at Professor Grunnell as she moved to the front of the classroom looked at Harry, not Draco.

But he had his jaw set and his wings spread so that no one could miss the enormous ring of blue surrounding the black bars. His hand trembled a little on the desktop, and Harry saw claws replace his nails.

Draco was _pissed_.

Harry waited in his own kind of silence for Professor Grunnell to begin the lecture. He had parchment and ink ready to take notes, but he also had his wings half-spread in the position that would launch him the fastest at someone coming up to try and condescend to him and Draco. He would use that power if he had to.

The lecture was interesting, though. Professor Grunnell began to fill them in on the reason that Veela mates could share powers, which apparently had to do with the need to defend young Veela and sometimes nesting sites. She talked about different kinds of bonds—deep, shallow, and semi-intense—and the signs one could use to discover how a Veela pair was bonded.

She paused at last, and nodded at Draco, who had his hand up. “Mr. Malfoy.”

“Is there any way to determine the depth of a mated pair’s bonding by looking at them, the way there is to determine that a bond exists?” Draco asked, in exactly the kind of smarmy voice he used to use in Snape’s classroom.

Harry looked at him from the corner of his eye. Draco was smiling, and his claws had turned back into nails. On the other hand, he still had his wings spread so no one could mistake the signs that they were a pair, and Harry had no doubt about how hard he would try to hit someone who doubted it openly.

“A good question, Mr. Malfoy.” Professor Grunnell gave them a rueful smile and a little twitch of the primaries on the edges of her wings. “Would that I could give you an equally good answer. The only one we have available to us is, not really. There are so many theorists arguing back and forth on the subject—”

“But why? If they know that different depths of bond exist—”

Professor Grunnell snorted, and Harry decided he liked her better than he had at any time since she was showing him around the school. She had more depth and showed more personality than most of his other teachers except Testig. “Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, how many Veela couples do you think would _willingly_ describe their bond as shallow?”

Draco slowly tilted his head in what Harry thought was reluctant agreement. But he insisted, “Still, why do the different descriptions of the bonds exist at all, if no one can really use them or tell whether they’re real?”

Professor Grunnell gave the most honest smile Harry thought he’d ever seen out of a professor. “This would be what we call a _theoretical_ question, Mr. Malfoy. And, of course, to use to talk about others’ bonds the way you wouldn’t talk about your own.”

Draco smiled. Harry didn’t think it was a nice smile. But he only shook his head when Harry reached out and put one of his hands on Draco’s in concern.

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, which Harry doubted very much. “Only that I was thinking about how some of the people in the same room with us would describe _our_ bond. And their own,” he added, glancing over his shoulder.

Harry looked with him, even as Professor Grunnell began another lecture that included terms like “inter-wing intermediaries.” The woman who sat behind them was a tall Veela, with unearthly silver hair and the first violet eyes Harry had seen here, his nails so thick and curved and gleaming that Harry wasn’t entirely sure they weren’t claws. The ring of the mating bond on her wings was violet, too, and surrounding an inner circle of pale gold that Harry thought must be her own color.

Her mate, seated behind her, looked entirely human, although he wore robes that made Harry sure he was a wizard. He had long brown hair and plain robes and looked anxiously between the woman and Harry and Draco. Around his neck was a silver locket that showed a ring of gold around a violet center.

Draco nudged Harry a little, and he turned reluctantly back to the lecture. But inside his head, he was groaning.

_Great. We moved away from the beginners who might be jealous of our bond, in among people who aren’t older and more mature the way I hoped. The ones who want to be enemies for absolutely_ no _reason. Wonderful._


	26. No Time Like the Present

“What are you _doing_?”

Harry glanced back once at Draco and smiled. Draco gave him another wary stare, but let him go. Harry spread his wings so that no one could possibly ignore the visible sign of their bonding, and saw Draco soften further.

“I thought we could save some trouble if we just _ask_ people what their problem with us is,” he explained, “instead of waiting for them to get to it on their own.”

Draco stared at him long enough that Harry could have counted drops of slickness on his tongue. Harry kept one eye on the Veela and her human who had sat behind them. She’d been talking to Professor Grunnell, but now she was turning towards the door. Her mate trailed behind her, looking tired.

“What’s your problem with us?” Harry asked her cheerfully.

The woman stopped immediately. She had more natural poise than any Veela he’d seen here, Harry thought; she reminded him of Fleur. Just by looking Harry up and down, she managed to make him feel small and dirty.

Harry held onto his glittering smile and his patience. He’d asked in public on purpose, and now the room was full of staring eyes. He’d bet she was less used to them than he was.

When he thought he would have to give up, she sighed and answered him in a voice that, sure enough, had a slight trace of a French accent. “Showing up and flaunting that you have—had sex, it is vulgar.” For a moment, her cheeks turned pink like those of a Muggle doll Harry had once seen some girls on Privet Drive playing with. “You are not supposed to be flaunting it like that.” She withdrew her gaze from him and looked at her partner. “Kevin and I did not.”

Kevin winced a little and said, “Darling, you know that everyone could still tell we were mated.”

“Darling” started to answer, but Harry cut in. “What business is it of yours? You’d have to know that we were mated because we were in the class. If you don’t want to look at the signs of it, then don’t look.”

The Veela woman gave him yet another incredulous, wide-eyed stare. Harry reckoned that she couldn’t remember the last time someone had stood up to her. And he thought she might actually have lashed out, except that Draco was drifting up “accidentally” to Harry’s side.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Draco said, and smiled at the woman.

“Valena Avaliere,” said the Veela, after a moment when she visibly considered not answering. Harry wondered for a second if that was incredibly rude, but it wasn’t like he would know unless someone explained it to him, and he wasn’t in the mood to guess. She turned her head and reached out to pat her mate’s arm. “This is Kevin Lavelle. I first became attracted to him because his name sounds like mine.”

Harry had to work hard to refrain from gagging. From the look in Draco’s eye, he was feeling much the same way.

“I know your family name,” he said smoothly. “But I am unaware of any blood feuds between our ancestors, and that surely means that you can forgive the lapse in our manners, yes?”

Avaliere gave Draco a single glance that made all the feathers on his wings bristle. Then she shook her head. “The vulgarity was the first thing about you that attracted my attention, but not the only one.” She tilted her head and waited.

Harry could just _hear_ the disaster that this would turn into if Draco was allowed to ask the question, so he intervened as hastily as he could. “What were the others?”

“You have no sense of what it means to be a Veela,” said Avaliere, “neither of you. You are both transformed, and I have heard that your transformation was even the result of an _accident_.” She stared at Harry, her wings trembling for a moment.

“It was,” Harry said. “I didn’t want to be a Veela.” He could feel Draco flinch as he said the words, and he sighed a little. Then he extended a wing so he could wrap it around Draco’s shoulders. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be one now. I have a mate who makes things a lot better for me.”

Draco gave him a smile that startled Harry with its sweetness. Of course he knew Draco could be sweet, but he hadn’t done it in public like this before.

“You should have worked harder to get your wings removed,” said Avaliere. “Being a Veela isn’t for simply _anyone_ who wants it, no? It is for those who wish to learn and work at it, to preserve our culture.”

“We don’t know they haven’t,” Kevin told her quietly. Harry saw the way his eyes darted over to them, resting warily on Harry’s wand. Maybe Kevin knew enough about Harry’s Auror reputation to be cautious.

Avaliere turned to him and crooned. “You’re so compassionate,” she said. “Always thinking the best of people.” The adoration that filled her face was something to see, and Harry actually had to glance away in embarrassment when she lifted a hand to caress Kevin’s face. “I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you.”

Kevin coughed and looked at Draco and Harry again. Avaliere started and turned back to them, but didn’t take her hand off her mate’s cheek. Harry wondered idly if that was one of the things she thought was different between born Veela and transformed Veela. The born ones didn’t seem so self-conscious about showing their mates affection.

“I do not hate you because of what you are,” she told them. “But because of what you might do.” She fastened her eyes on Harry and let her eyebrows rise to the point that Harry _did_ feel himself flush, because she could make him feel self-conscious effortlessly. “Particularly you. I have heard that you did not…like learning the truth in classes.”

“I didn’t like it at first,” said Harry blandly. He thought he knew the way to handle Avaliere now. “I started to like it better once I learned it meant I would have a mate that I could take to bed.” He reached out and smoothed his hand down the edge of Draco’s wing, specifically because it would make Draco arch his back and croon.

Avaliere was staring at them in undisguised horror. Kevin touched her shoulder. “I don’t want to be late for dinner,” he said.

“Why are you doing that in front of me?” Avaliere whispered, and swayed a little.

“To show you that we can, of course,” said Harry innocently. “To show you what I’ve learned. You were worried about me not adopting all the Veela customs, so this is to show you that I _can_.” He leaned in and tugged on the side of Draco’s wing. This time, not taken by surprise, Draco shot him a distinctly amused glance, but also arched his wings and spread them above his head like the wings of an angel.

“Stop this at once!”

“But it’s fun. And don’t you know that studies have proven that the more fun someone has at something, the more likely they are to keep doing it? Oh, right. Well. They were all done by Muggles, so I suppose you wouldn’t be familiar with them.”

“Stop,” said Avaliere in a low wail, and covered her eyes with her hands. Her wings swept forwards, as if she wanted to shield her face with them, too, but then one banged into her mate and sent him sprawling.

“Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter. Is there a problem?”

_Interesting how the problem is always with us, as far as the professors are concerned,_ Harry thought, and turned around to nod to Professor Grunnell. “Miss Avaliere was just telling us what her problem with us was. So I wanted to show that I’m appropriately enthusiastic about learning to be a Veela now.”

Grunnell glanced back and forth between them, and if she didn’t see what was going on, she was a lot stupider than Harry imagined. She grunted a little and said, “Miss Avaliere, Mr. Lavelle. I think you should probably leave. Miss Avaliere looks distressed.”

Kevin was at least grateful for the excuse, Harry thought, as he bent towards Avaliere and bundled her out the door with soft words. As they made their way down the corridor, he literally soothed her ruffled feathers, and Avaliere gave them a single glance and a little shudder before she focused on his words.

“Now.” Professor Grunnell spread her wings a little and touched the tips of them to her hips instead of her hands. “Appearances to the contrary or not, Mr. Potter, I know that you are intelligent. Why did you decide to do that?”

"I confronted her because I'm sick of problems I don't know about coming back to bite me later on." Harry met Professor Grunnell's gaze and found less anger there than he'd expected. "I saw her glaring at us. I wanted to know why."

Grunnell moved one wing slowly back and forth like a fan. Harry couldn't tell if she was just trying to make herself cool or if it was the equivalent of putting a hand over her eyes. "You couldn't come up with a more diplomatic way to do it?"

"She probably would have denied there was a problem if I'd been diplomatic, wouldn't she?"

"That's possible. You still could have tried it."

Harry shook his head again. "I've had to live with enemies all my life, and some of them could have been neutralized if I'd asked more questions. I also was told that I should ask more questions about Veela customs since I've been here. This is me, asking them."

"You could have done it in such a way that--"

"Why is it always _we_ who could have done it in such a way, Professor?" And Harry thought maybe he should have left the conversation up to Draco from the beginning, because his eyes were bright and his tone was friendly and so condescending that it made shivers of approval run up Harry's back. "Why does Miss Avaliere have no responsibility not to react like someone pissed on the rug?"

Professor Grunnell's wings twitched again. Harry really wished he knew what that meant. "You raise an excellent point, Mr. Malfoy," she said, if a bit stiffly. "Perhaps we have been a bit hasty to blame you."

"A _bit_ hasty?"

This time, Harry was the one who reached out to restrain Draco with a gentle press on his arm and a nod to Grunnell. "As long as this doesn't turn into some kind of fight between us and Avaliere, then I don't mind. And I hope that you can tell us anyone else in the school who has that kind of prejudice against transformed Veela, so we can avoid them."

"To make such a list of names would give you a reason to have a prejudice of your own, Mr. Potter." Grunnell made her feathers stand on end when Harry opened his mouth to object. "You do raise some good points, and it's true that hatred has no place here. I will have a talk with Miss Avaliere. I can't promise more."

Harry felt the upwards pressure Draco was exerting on his arm, but he didn't look around to acknowledge it, only pressed downwards in turn and then nodded. "Thank you, Professor," he said, right before he dragged Draco out of the classroom.

Draco turned firmly towards their rooms when Harry would have joined the mass of people heading for dinner, so Harry sighed and went with him. At least he thought Draco would have told him if this prejudice was common among the born Veela.

_At least if he knew about it. Maybe this is the first time he's heard it himself._

That comforted Harry, the thought that both of them might be equally ignorant about a topic. He felt comforted right up until they got back to his rooms--Draco decided against going into his own, for some reason--and Draco exploded, whirling around and flinging himself towards the ceiling. Harry stared as he flew in a circle. It was something he hadn't dared try himself inside, since he was still unused to the power of his wings compared to a broom.

"Are you all right?" Harry finally called up after Draco.

Draco hissed and threw his feet out in front of him, landing with a rush and a stagger that made the carpet crush beneath him. "They said they wouldn't tolerate prejudice of that kind here. Oh, no. But then it happens, and we get scolded more than the born Veela. Oh, yes, so equal."

Harry hesitated. Then he asked, "Is there some context here that I'm missing? Did you know about the prejudice before we got to the school?"

Draco closed his wings around his sides again and reached out for Harry. Harry accepted the hold without taking his gaze from Draco’s face. Then Draco cheeped in distress, and Harry realized that he apparently really wanted to hide away in Harry’s shoulder.

“Fine,” Harry said, letting it happen. “But this is still something I want an answer to. Did you know about this before?”

Draco shook his head, and his hair rustling against Harry’s hands helped Harry calm down, too. “I thought it might be a possibility. But I also knew there were other transformed Veela here. I didn’t know…there weren’t that many.”

He pulled back and ran his hand up Harry’s chest and chin and cheek until he brushed near his eye, staring at him. “But what really angers me is that the professors still treat you like you’re a troublemaker automatically, even when you haven’t done anything that would show that.”

Harry kissed him behind the ear. “That gets me angry, too. Like the Aurors. But we can’t do anything about it right now. Only show that we’re not the ones with the prejudice problem, and Avaliere will probably trip up again. Then Professor Grunnell will believe us.”

“I wish I had your optimism.”

Harry leaned closer to him. Draco sounded a little too desperate for his liking. “What do you mean?”

Draco gave him a glance, then turned away. Harry lifted his wings and embraced Draco with them, though, and then he had nothing to look at but reminders of their bonding all over the place. He dropped his head forwards and sighed.

“It’s just…becoming a Veela has cost you your job. It’s cost you comfort and time. And now you’re facing hatred for something you can’t help, from Veela, again. It makes me wonder if you’re going to decide that it’s not worthwhile staying here and you’ll leave.”

Harry smiled at him. “Becoming a Veela gave me you, too, and I value you very much.”

Draco didn’t return the smile. “Enough to put up with everything else?”

“To do more than put up with it.” Harry reached out and slid his hand around the back of Draco’s neck, massaging until some of the warmth seemed to seep out of his fingers and Draco let his eyes slide closed and a sleepy chirp come out. “To rejoice in it. The school isn’t forever, and maybe the Aurors wouldn’t have been, either. But I think this is.”

Draco’s face lit up, and the soft glowing light wrapped his wings again. He leaned in, and kissed Harry hard enough that Harry regretted they hadn’t eaten dinner yet. Then they could have stayed in the room, and—

Something thumped on the bed behind them. Harry leaped and came down with his wand aimed and his free hand cocked. His fingernails there had already sharpened into claws.

But it was no intruder, not even one of the professors come along to frown at them. It was a wrapped package lying on the bed. It seemed to be covered in white silk. Harry blinked at it and then at Draco, wondering if one of his house-elves had sent it. It was the only origin Harry could think of.

Draco moved at once to the bed, his smile sincere in a way it hadn’t been since they confronted Avaliere. He removed the silk and held up what looked like a plaque made of bone. Harry came nearer, shaking his head.

“Get behind it, with me,” Draco said breathlessly.

Harry did, and stared obediently at the plaque, thinking it might be a mirror. But nothing reflected in its surface. “What—”

Abruptly, they were behind a wall the same color as the plaque. Harry leaped away, his wings fanning out again. Draco laughed and gestured, his finger pressing at a certain place on the wall, and in seconds it had shrunk back to normal size and he was holding a plaque again.

“How did you know it could do that?” Harry asked, when he’d caught his breath.

“I didn’t know for sure.” Draco twitched his head from side to side, and grinned at him. “But my father used to possess an artifact that looked similar. And it makes sense for the courtship gifts that the magic sends us to look familiar. Otherwise, we might not know how to use them.” He flipped the plaque back onto Harry’s bed. “That will keep us safe from any enemies who might seek to threaten us.”

Harry grinned. “Then the magic is pleased with the progress we’ve made.”

“And perhaps you saying this would last forever.”

Harry bent down and showed him other means of saying the same thing, without words.


	27. Messages From the Aurors

Good opinion or not, Testig did glare when the owl flew directly into the middle of her class and landed on Harry's shoulder, hooting softly. Harry did his best to shrug and look apologetic, as much as he could when he was trying to stand up and move out of the class and disentangle the owl's beak and talons from his feathers all at once. It appeared to have decided he was a giant bird it needed to preen.

He didn't ask Draco to stand and come with him, but that was what happened. Harry spread his right wing to touch Draco's left while he finally got the letter off the owl's leg and opened it.

It had the Ministry seal on it, and he almost expected it to be a letter demanding his resignation immediately. Instead, it had Kingsley Shacklebolt's signature on it, and demanded to know when he could finish his Veela training and return to work.

Harry stared at it in silence, then let his head fall back until it banged against the wall with a steady thump. He would have tried that again, but Draco put his wing between Harry's head and the wall and stared at him until Harry stood up straight, grumbling an apology.

"You're not to hurt yourself."

"I know. I just--I don't know whether this means that Kingsley doesn't _know_ I'm not capable of returning to the Aurors, by their own rules, or if he thinks he can override those and make people accept me."

Draco held out his hand for the letter. Harry gave it to him and spent a minute scowling at the floor.

He'd come to terms with not being able to return to the Aurors. Hermione had written him a few encouraging letters with discoveries about Veela that helped with that, but most of it was Draco, honestly. Draco, who offered him more real companionship than any of the fickle Aurors except Ron ever had. Harry no longer thought much about what he'd lost in comparison to what he'd gained.

But now, with the sudden chance, all those thoughts came back about somehow reconciling himself with the Aurors without actually returning to them. Harry sighed and glanced at Draco to see what he thought.

Draco was holding the letter as if it was a dead rat. Harry had to grin. "What?"

"I think, from the tone of this letter, that he _does_ know." Draco spun the letter a little and stared at it, wrinkling his nose. "But he assumes that you'll be perfectly happy with doing paperwork behind your desk for the rest of your life. He thinks he has something to offer a Veela."

"Why do you think that?"

"The references to 'proper work' and 'not letting lack of experience in this field discourage you.'" Draco sniffed. "I assume you have plenty of experience in the _actual_ field, so it can only refer to what he thinks you'll be doing in the future."

Harry took the letter back and read it again, with Draco standing helpfully behind him to stab his wingtip at various phrases. Now that Harry looked more closely, yes, it did seem as if Kingsley thought he could continue in the Aurors as long as he never went on a mission again.

Harry breathed slowly to control his anger. He still didn't know if Kingsley knew about the prejudice he'd faced. He might agree with it, given that he seemed to have decided Harry would distract his partners with his Veela-ness or whatever, but he might not have heard about the ultimatum Harry had got.

"What do you think I should do?"

"Floo him or owl him right now," Draco said promptly. "Testig won't be any angrier about you missing the rest of her class than she was about you leaving in the middle of it."

Harry nodded in silence and went to his bedroom. The more he thought about it, the more he thought he'd prefer to Floo. He'd needed Draco to help him interpret some ambiguous phrases in the last letter. He would rather not have to squint and guess at what Kingsley meant next time.

Draco locked the door behind Harry without having to be asked. Harry flashed him a smile that made him fluff, and then he knelt down, undid a couple of protections on his Floo, and cast in powder, calling out, "Shacklebolt's office!"

It took a long moment before he felt the connection form, which meant Kingsley was probably either busy with someone else or trying to figure out who was calling him. Then his face formed in the flames. He blinked several times, maybe because Harry was crouched on the floor, half-shirtless and with his wings lifted around him. "Harry?"

"Yes." Harry brandished the letter he'd got. "I just want to know what this means. Do you _really_ expect me to sit behind a desk for the rest of my life, mutely grateful that I get to do whatever you think a Veela _can_ do? I'm trained as a field Auror, you know that. I'm going to be miserable if it turns out that I can't do that. I'd rather not be an Auror at all."

Kingsley leaned slowly back, his eyes narrowed. By watching him, Harry still had no idea if he'd already realized this would be a problem. But Draco gave a little hiss behind him, and Harry thought that meant his mate recognized there was a problem, at least.

"You know the problems with a Veela being a field Auror."

"I know the _prejudices,_ the mistaken ideas that might have made some people suggest it," said Harry sweetly. "I want to know if you share those prejudices and that's why you're not going to be offering me my job back."

He felt the brush of Draco's wing on his spine, and would have smiled if he didn't think it would shatter the facade he was trying to build with Kingsley. Let him not know Harry had all but decided on not returning. It would make his bargaining position stronger.

Kingsley sighed hard enough that Harry thought bubbles would come out of his mouth. "It's not so much what I think, personally, Harry. It's the perceptions other people have. I know you wouldn't do half of what they think you would."

"What _are_ those things? Jared could hardly describe them to me."

"Enchanting your partners. Distracting them from their work, or making their partners jealous. Possibly involving your mate if you get into dangerous situations. Causing legal situations if you use your Veela powers or allure to capture criminals."

Harry swallowed around the thick sourness at the back of his throat. "You've really thought about this, haven't you?"

Kingsley met his gaze evenly. "We've had half-Veela Aurors before. They did get in trouble. And got other people in trouble. I don't think it was always on purpose. But that's what happened, and that's why we have the rules we do."

"So I'm to blame for the fact that other people can't control themselves."

Harry became aware that he had almost barked the words. Draco was standing behind him, one wing still held out to touch his spine. Harry focused himself on that small point of warmth and took a deep swallow of air.

"Okay. That means that I'm not going to be a field Auror again, as far as you're concerned. And the other Aurors are concerned," he added, because he thought Kingsley was opening his mouth to claim that, once again, he had no _personal_ prejudice against Veela.

"Yes, I think it means that."

"Okay," Harry repeated, and closed his eyes, and floated in some kind of drifting, distant air. Draco was the one to bring him back, draping his wing across his chest. That meant Kingsley could see him and become aware he was present, but Harry thought that hardly mattered now. "Then I'll send in my resignation letter as soon as I can find the time to write it."

"I thought the Aurors were your life, Harry."

It was the chiding tone that made Harry open his eyes, lean towards the hearth, and snap, "They were. Until they turned on me and made it clear that they only valued me for my skills, and they couldn't get over this _accident_ that I suffered."

He shut the Floo connection with a hard ring of his hand. Draco promptly bent over him and cooed into his ear, and Harry turned, burying his face in feathers until Draco had to stagger back and sit on the bed.

"Make me forget," Harry whispered to him. "Just--show me what I've earned, not what's been taken away from me."

Draco reached down and slid his hands under Harry's armpits. Harry helped by beating his own wings a little, or he'd probably not have been able to get him off the floor. They turned, cheek to cheek, and sighed together, and then Draco flew Harry up into the air and put him on the bed. 

“How would you like me to make you forget?” Draco asked a second later, and knelt at Harry’s feet with his wings spread around him, drooping and magnificent, his head drooping a little too. Only long experience let Harry be sure that there was a smile sneaking around the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve already made a good start.”

Draco sighed and flapped at the same time, and then reached out and unhooked Harry’s trousers with a single delicate motion of his fingers. Then he leaned forwards and sealed his mouth around Harry’s cock as though they’d had a discussion about it.

Harry bucked and swore. Draco simply moved with him, and settled back into place when he could, fluttering wings and beautiful face and all.

Harry reached down, moving his fingers along Draco’s cheek. For an instant, he was full of wonder at the way Draco’s eyes closed in pleasure, as if he was the one who was being sucked right now.

Just from a simple touch.

And then Harry was too focused on his own pleasure, his wings flapping, his head tilting back as the burning warmth made its way up from his cock through his chest. God, his heart ached from the heat, and his feathers were starting to stand on end, and he wouldn’t be surprised, if Draco licked him sideways _one_ more time—

Draco licked him sideways.

Harry came.

It wasn’t anything planned, and he swore again as he felt how big a wet mouthful Draco was getting. He reached out and dipped his fingers under Draco’s chin and murmured, “Are you all right?”

Draco stared at him for a second, wings rustling, and the blue bars glowing brightly alongside the black ones. Then he laughed, and wiped his mouth a little, and shook his head. “My mate just came in my mouth. Oh, no, spare me this horrible suffering.” He clasped his hands over his heart and let his eyes roll back in his head.

But when he did that, he strained the cloth around his chest and his groin, and Harry saw the erection that made such a bulge against his trousers. He reached down and threaded his fingers through the nearest feathers, on the edge of Draco’s wing.

Draco gasped and arched towards him.

“I thought so,” Harry whispered, feeling less tired and a lot more— _predatory_ than he’d thought he would. He sank to the floor and moved towards Draco, still touching his wing even when it spread into a nervous fan. “You’re as hard for me as I was for you. It’s not just one of us in control. It’s both of us affecting each other.”

“I—never said it wasn’t,” Draco said, and his voice seemed to catch on burrs in his throat as his body shook and arched some more.

“I thought maybe you might,” Harry whispered, and pulled Draco close to him with one hand behind his neck. “Now, kiss me, and maybe I’ll forget about some of the things that you’ve done to annoy me.”

Draco opened his mouth. It was probably to protest and say that mates shouldn’t tease each other this way.

Harry kissed him, and stole his breath and his tongue both into his own mouth. He ran a hand down Draco’s chest and wings until the one was heaving and the others quivering with emotion. Then he pushed him backwards.

Draco flapped to catch himself, but he still ended up on his arse with his wings extended behind his shoulders. His legs fell open, and Harry reached out and twisted one hand delicately over Draco’s groin.

It was enough.

Draco’s mouth fell open when he came, and so did his wings, giving one giant, spasmodic flap. He groaned a second later and rolled onto his stomach, panting in a light voice. Harry came over and rested one hand as light in the middle of his back.

“What’s got into you?” Draco muttered, without taking his hand away from his face or raising his head.

Harry nuzzled the back of his neck and didn’t respond. In truth, it was more Kingsley and the things he had accused Harry of than anything else. If he had to give up the Aurors for his mate, he would show everyone who mattered, including Draco, that that mate was _his_ , and worth it.

“Harry? I want you to tell me.”

“To mark you as mine,” Harry murmured, because it was true and he knew it would please Draco. “And to show you that I don’t regret giving up the Aurors when I’ll get you as a prize in return.”

Draco laughed breathlessly and sat up, turning around to kiss him. The kiss became more involved than Harry’d expected, and they sprawled apart and had to breathe again for a long moment before Draco said, “I could have told you that I’m already yours.”

Harry just had to pull him in for another kiss then.

*

Harry snorted as he watched the fire flaring with bright blue sparks for a moment. He’d received yet another letter from one of the mad Healers, and thrown it into the flames immediately. He was glad, since the blue sparks meant there’d been a spell of some kind on it.

_Maybe I should let Hermione have their names and do something to them the way she’s always begging me to,_ he thought idly, and turned his head to look at Draco, asleep in his bed. Neither of them had felt like parting after the conversation with Kingsley earlier. Draco lay on his stomach with his wings draped on either side of the bed like enormous feather dusters.

Harry had to snicker. _He would be so offended if I told him that. Once I explained to him what a feather duster was._

Thoughts of the future had kept Harry up. It was all well and good to entertain fantasies of hunting criminals with Draco and declare that he wasn’t going back to the Aurors, but it would be much harder to convince those same Aurors if he had a bad relationship with them.

Someone knocked on the door.

Harry looked quickly at the clock on the wall. The hands pointed almost to midnight. Harry frowned and stood up. He supposed it could be one of the professors coming to ask why they’d missed so much class that day, but Testig and Grunnell and most of the rest would have announced themselves right away. This sounded more secretive.

He made his way to the door and cast a spell that would turn it as transparent as glass, but only for his eyes, effectively revealing who was on the other side of it. 

On the other side stood that man, Kevin, who was the mate of the Veela who’d accosted them in Grunnell’s class. Harry blinked and banished the spell for a moment, standing and thinking, while Kevin knocked again.

Harry glanced over his shoulder with instinctive concern. No, the sound hadn’t woken Draco. Draco had turned his head a little away and burrowed his face into his arm, but he showed no sign of sitting up.

Mind made up, Harry tugged the door open. Kevin had seemed the reasonable one when they were talking to Lavaliere. Maybe he had come to discuss a truce.

Kevin started and spun around when the door opened, though, and Harry stifled a sigh. He only hoped that this didn’t turn into another tense confrontation.

“Where’s your mate?” Kevin was darting his eyes around.

“I could ask the same thing,” Harry said, and leaned on the doorway with a casual spread of his wing, so Kevin wouldn’t be able to look in at Draco. “She seems the sort who would be jealous about you spending time with anyone else.”

Kevin gave him a look of pure misery, and Harry sighed and relented. “All right. What?”

“Valena realizes now that she might have been a little hasty,” Kevin said, slowly, reluctantly. “It’s not your fault that you’re transformed Veela, and you _do_ need to be here, or resist corrupting people with your power.”

Harry kept his opinion on the “corruption” aspect to himself. “Okay. And?”

“One of the traditional ways of calling for peace in Veela culture is sending a gift.” Kevin’s hand shook as he reached slowly into a pocket of his trousers, drawing out a wrapped package. “I was really supposed to give it to you with your mate there, so he could see she doesn’t mean it as a courting gift…”

“Since we’re both mated, I don’t think Draco would mind,” Harry said, with a roll of his eyes, and took the gift. Inside the silvery paper, there was something soft and heavy, more like sand than anything else. “I reckon you’re supposed to tell her how I receive it.”

“Um…”

“Don’t bother denying it.” Harry caught Kevin’s eye firmly. “But it’s sort of humiliating how she makes you into her owl, you know.”

Kevin bowed his head again. Harry shook his head as he opened the paper. He could only guess that Kevin felt about Lavaliere the way he did about Draco. Nothing else would make someone go through this kind of humiliation.

When Harry looked down, he saw the glittering white dust in the package, so bright it looked like diamond dust. He raised his eyebrows. “Is this some kind of cosmetic?” Probably, because that would allow Lavaliere to insult him at the same time.

“No. You use it like _this_.”

Kevin’s hand reached beneath Harry’s, and then shot upwards, pushing the dust into a flying cascade. Harry inhaled before he could stop himself, and felt his mind whirl and darken. He lost track of his legs, and then he was crashing to the floor.

He did hear Kevin murmur, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

_For what that’s worth._

Then there was darkness everywhere, threaded all through his mind, and it smothered even the panic over not knowing where Draco was and what was happening to him.


	28. Close Your Eyes

Harry opened his eyes to a steady pounding.

He thought for a long moment that it was his own head, which _was_ pounding as though someone was slamming a hammer against his skull from the inside. But when he reached out and felt against the sides of the wooden box he seemed to be locked in, he realized the noise was coming from outside it.

Harry had just enough room for his wings when he twisted to his knees. When he tried to get up further, his feathers brushed against the lid. It was like a crate, fastened around him and banded with iron. And wards, he discovered when he tried to stretch the tip of his wing through the gap between the slats and got it burned.

He shrieked, and an immediate shriek answered him—one he knew.

Harry tossed his head back and closed his eyes. He had never done this before, but instincts seemed to be taking him over, the way they did when he had sex with Draco. He reached along the bond, which suddenly seemed to burn in front of his eyes like a rope made of white fire, and there, yes, _there_ was his mate, on the other side of the box and whatever door was near it.

Harry screamed again, and he got answered by the scrape of claws along what sounded like stone and Draco’s war-cry.

That cry snapped Harry back into sanity. The last place he’d heard it was outside the Dursleys’ house, and he could just imagine Draco in the same kind of mood, coming after Kevin and Lavaliere.

Harry _had_ to get free, or Draco was going to kill someone. And while Harry couldn’t bring himself to care that much about the people who had kidnapped him, he didn’t want to see what that would do to Draco.

He flung himself against the sides of the crate, claws out, and magic curled and stung him. He didn’t have his wand, of course. He spread his wings further, and this time, something _burned_ his feathers. Harry tried to muffle his immediate reaction, though, because he knew how hearing his voice in pain would “inspire” Draco.

It didn’t seem to matter. Maybe Draco could feel his pain along the bond. Either way, he screamed immediately, hoarse, desperate-sounding, and then Harry heard something other than the box splinter and tear.

The next instant, there was shouting, and the beating of more than one pair of wings, and the bond appeared in front of Harry’s eyes again, shortening. Harry reared back and lifted his legs to try kicking against the roof. The magic on it didn’t seem to react as badly when he didn’t approach it with the Veela parts of his body.

At the same moment as his boots hit the lid, a gigantic pair of snowy wings did from the outside, too. Draco yelled in pain, but the next instant he’d torn a hole when one of the boards broke, and he peered in at Harry. His voice changed to a croon. He yanked the broken board ahead, ignoring the way it burned his hands, and lifted Harry out of the box.

Harry tried to crane his head to the side, to see how hurt Draco’s hands and wings were, but Draco held him too close to his chest to see. He kissed him, and Harry felt a deep cloak of relaxation drop onto his shoulders. He reached up and traced his fingers around Draco’s cheeks and up to his ears, crooning quietly.

Then Draco placed him securely on the floor and mantled over him. Harry blinked and tried to turn to see what was going on, but Draco’s hands held him still with effortless strength. Harry reached down and pulled at Draco’s arms. They didn’t move.

Harry tried to ask something, but Draco adjusted the curve of one wing so it blocked his mouth. Then he raised his wings further, and something began to brew and churn under them like a potion. Harry felt his eyes widen. It was blue fire, edged with white, looking harder than any of the fireballs Veela had flung during the World Cup.

“Draco, what are you doing?” he whispered breathlessly against the blocking mask of feathers.

Draco either didn’t hear him or didn’t understand him. He lifted his wings further and then began to stalk forwards, pulling Harry with him and crouching low to shelter him at the same time. Harry didn’t understand until he finally thought to face forwards and take stock of the rest of the room.

It looked like a room in someone’s house, though maybe the cellar. The walls were stone, and scattered around were crates like the ones that had imprisoned Harry, most of them broken. Cowering against the wall were Kevin and Lavaliere.

Well, Lavaliere _did_ have her wings spread as if she was trying to shield her mate from Draco’s gaze. But she was trembling, and she couldn’t seem to pull her glance away from the fire dancing beneath Draco’s wings. Harry wondered if it was actively hypnotizing to enemies or something.

He pulled again, insistently, at Draco’s arms. He knew what was going to happen if he didn’t get free, and he _didn’t want it to._

Draco crooned directly into his ear. Harry found himself leaning back with a smile he knew was dopey, and letting his head rest against Draco’s collarbone.

“Let me take care of it, love,” Draco murmured. His fingers were leaving those trails of fire as he stroked along the back of Harry’s shoulders, and Harry shivered. He had never known the _base_ of his wings was that sensitive. “You just stand here and let me. Or better, sit and let me.” He knelt and placed Harry on the floor in front of him, and Harry knew all he had to do was sit there and let the bliss take him.

Let Draco take care of him. Let Draco take care of everything.

_But if I do, then Draco will be hurt, too. Murder splits your soul._

Harry remembered Horcruxes, and Voldemort, and that was the memory that let him get his hands beneath him and rise. He crawled away from Draco for a second, until he had room to spread his wings. Then he turned around and stood. It wasn’t so hard to get away from those hands, after all, not when he had the right motivation.

Draco’s lips were pulled back from his teeth, and he looked hard and terrible, when he met Harry’s gaze. “You would protect them,” he said, his voice chiming, high and shrill. Harry wanted to listen to it and succumb to it, be swept under by it, but this wasn’t about what he wanted. It was about what Draco _needed_. “You care more about them than me.”

“No. I care about you preserving your soul. I don’t want you to murder someone and split it.”

Someone whimpered behind Harry, but he couldn’t tell whether it was Kevin or Lavaliere. For a moment, Draco’s gaze darted over his shoulder, and then he turned and stared hard at Harry. “I won’t split my soul.”

“Have you ever murdered someone?”

Harry knew the answer to that question very well. Even when the lives of his family had depended on it, Draco hadn’t been able to kill Dumbledore. And now, from the way he was moving his wings in small, restless circles, he was remembering the same thing.

Harry held his eyes. He was tired and still a little muddle-headed from whatever drug Kevin had given him, and the burns on his fingers and wings ached. That didn’t matter, not next to what he had to do. 

“You said that you understood the Veela defensive instincts. That you shared them when you thought about what Voldemort had done to me.”

Harry extended his neck, nuzzling his cheek against Draco’s. Draco’s nostrils flared and he tried to speak, but Harry was already doing so. “I do. But that doesn’t mean I want blood on your hands and dead bodies on the floor.”

“If you really understand me,” said Draco, and gripped Harry’s wrist hard enough that Harry winced for his bones, “then you’ll understand why I need to punish them for kidnapping you.”

Harry turned back to Kevin and Lavaliere. He didn’t think they’d moved, unless Lavaliere had shifted a little to cover her mate more. “You do,” he agreed. “But you can’t kill them. How will they understand the depth of your displeasure if you just slaughter them and then it’s over with?”

Draco’s hiss, which had sounded mixed with a growl, stopped abruptly. “You’re trying to manipulate me.”

“I am,” Harry said, and turned back to him. “Is it working?”

“I do want them to suffer,” Draco said, and his gaze passed across the pair of them. Kevin was actively trying to hide his eyes now, Harry saw when he looked over his shoulder, something he hadn’t done in front of Harry. Lavaliere’s face looked the same shade as her wings, but she didn’t move. “I want them to suffer as much as they would in _Azkaban_. But if we tell someone, then they’ll be arrested and held in the Veela community. And we don’t have prisons like Azkaban.”

Harry leaned on Draco’s chest. “Think about all the things that we learned in Veela Mate Culture,” he urged him softly, ignoring the crackling blue flames that parted around his wings like water. He knew Draco’s magic would never hurt him. “Do you _really_ think that the professors are going to take someone kidnapping me and trying to end our bond lightly?”

“We weren’t trying to end your bond!”

Draco never looked at Lavaliere. He reached out and smoothed his thumbs along Harry’s cheeks, beneath his eyes. Harry held patiently still. Draco wouldn’t hurt him with the claws that had replaced his fingernails, either.

“Veela Mate Culture also taught me that I could slaughter your enemies for endangering you and no one would arrest me.”

“But it would cause difficulties in our bond. And if you want to say that’s because I’m a transformed Veela—”

“It is.”

Harry turned and shrieked at Lavaliere, making her sway on her feet and wrap her hands around her ears. He was trying to save her bloody _life_! Why was it so hard for her to see that?

“If you want to say it’s because I didn’t grow up in Veela communities, or because I accepted their values so late, or something,” Harry went on, turning back to his mate, “then that’s fine. But I would still dislike it if you killed someone for me.” He reached out and curled his own claws gently into a circle atop Draco’s madly beating heart. “I want you to do things other than kill for me.”

“Like what?” Draco’s voice was soft, and he was crowding Harry, nearly forcing him back against the edge of the broken crate.

“Like live for me,” Harry said, and lifted his head, and did his best to look seductive. He was probably not doing a good job, but from the way that Draco’s eyes slowly widened, maybe he didn’t _need_ to when it was his mate looking at him. “And please me, and work with me, and help me get my allure even more under control than it is. And teach me more about what it means to be mated to someone.” He curled his claws in until he would have pierced Draco’s skin and hurt him if they weren’t mates, he thought. “Will you do those things for me?”

Draco bowed his head and touched his cheek to Harry’s cheek, then to Harry’s lips. Then he pulled back and touched his lips to Harry’s cheek and mouth. Harry tilted his head back to accept the kiss, feeling the slightly drunk and hazy feeling slip over him again. But this time, Draco wasn’t trying to ease him out of the way.

This time, he was accepting everything Harry had said.

“All right,” Draco whispered. “I can see why you don’t want _me_ to suffer for doing something to them. Even if Testig and the other professors would probably say that we’re fully justified in this.” He pulled Harry gently to his feet and back into his arms. As long as he didn’t try to kill Lavaliere and Kevin, Harry had no objections to that.

Draco _did_ turn to the two of them and say, in a voice that made the fire burning under his wings seem cold, “Why did you do it?”

Harry looked at them again, curious about their answer. Kevin was shivering with his arms wrapped around himself and his eyes closed and didn’t look inclined to say anything, but Lavaliere stood up and cocked her wings a little. The look on her face had chilled again. Harry thought she looked a little like Fleur had when she sneered at him for being the fourth Tri-Wizard Champion.

“Because I was going to cut his wings off. There’s a procedure that you can do with transformed Veela, certain potions and magic, so they aren’t Veela anymore. I was going to do it on him, and then the school wouldn’t be contaminated by his presence any longer.”

Harry tried to reach back and put his hand calmingly on Draco’s chest, but for at least one thing, he was too late. Draco flipped his wings up.

The boiling blue-white fire flared through the room, casting odd shadows on the walls. Harry had to close his eyes, it was so bright, and he heard Lavaliere’s hysterical cry and Kevin’s low wail.

Harry finally managed to turn his head and blink through the afterimages, which danced like lightning bolts across his vision. Lavaliere lay on the floor, her head cradled in Kevin’s lap. He was pulling his hand through her long silver hair and whispering her name.

Half her hair had been crisped and burned off. And down the left side of her face, missing her eye but taking up her temple and her cheek and her jaw, was a huge, ugly burn. Harry shivered. He could make out the shape of five fingers in that burn, even though he knew Draco hadn’t actually touched her with his hand.

“That scar is going to remain,” Draco said, and his voice was so heavy with pleasure that Harry shivered before realizing what a bloody _inappropriate_ reaction that was. He shook his head and tried to get rid of both the afterimages and the weight of Draco’s hand pressing into his shoulders. “And now, I think that you’re going to look less like a Veela than we do. Because your beauty, the one inheritance that all of us should have, is going to be destroyed forever.”

“You’re cruel,” said Kevin, without looking up or away from Lavaliere.

“So is she,” Draco said. “The punishment fits the crime. And it’s going to be more than that when we tell Testig and the other professors what happened.” He paused in dragging Harry towards the door. “Honestly, I don’t envy you _at all_ when Professor Testig finds out exactly how much you disobeyed the dictates of respecting a Veela mate bond.”

And then they were abruptly outside the door, in a whirl of motion so fast that Harry hardly had time to see the other small stone room that they flew through, only the cloudy sky into which Draco abruptly lifted him.

“I can fly on my own, you know,” Harry said, tilting his head back to look up into Draco’s face.

Draco looked down, and his face was wild and savage with beauty. “Leave me alone right now, Harry,” he said. “I _still_ had to stop myself from killing her when I heard what she intended to do with you, even after I’d promised you I wouldn’t.” He bent his head down and rubbed his nose through Harry’s hair. “You have to let me take care of you and seduce you when we get back.”

Harry glanced at the burns on Draco’s hands, which were curled under his armpits as Draco carried him. “Then you have to promise to let me heal your wounds.”

“ _Not now_.” Draco’s wings bulged suddenly, making them fall a short distance through the air, and Draco flipped his chin down to stare into Harry’s eyes. “Let me _take care of you_.”

Harry shuddered a little, and not with fear. He could feel himself hardening under the glint in Draco’s eyes, and his voice came out breathless. “All right then.”

Draco slowly brought them back up to their previous height, and smoothed out into a gently flapping flight that Harry could hardly feel. But he felt the way Draco held him, gripping, possessively, not ever intending to let someone come between them. And Harry _did_ like that. He wouldn’t have liked it if Draco would have killed for him, but again, the _desire_ to do so…

Maybe it was fucked-up. But he liked what he liked.

And Draco’s low croon, and the way he kept flying without turning back to try and slaughter Kevin and Lavaliere again, had to be a good sign.


	29. Cradled

“Let me handle it.”

Harry tilted his head back and considered Draco as they walked down the corridor towards Testig’s classroom. Draco had his jaw so set that Harry was honestly afraid he might break his teeth. And he was marching so hard that his wings flared out and banged against the wall from the strength of his strides.

Except for the wing he kept wrapped around Harry, of course. That couldn’t shift, and it felt as heavy as a cloak.

Harry nodded when Draco glanced at him. “Are you going to Testig because you think she’ll be hardest on Lavaliere?” he asked. It would have made sense to go to Professor Grunnell otherwise. She was the one who had actually witnessed their confrontation with Lavaliere and Kevin.

“Exactly.” Draco grinned at him and then knocked on the classroom door. Harry heard some shuffling inside, and almost hoped that Testig was with a student. The longer they could put this off, the more Draco would calm down.

Harry didn’t want Kevin and Lavaliere _spared_ , not exactly. But he wasn’t sure that they deserved Testig’s vengeance.

“You have that expression of forgiveness on your face again. I hate it. That’s one reason I told you to _let me handle it_.”

Harry looked directly into Draco’s eyes and decided that he had no choice but to nod. The question he should probably be asking himself was not whether Kevin and Lavaliere deserved a punishment, but whether Draco deserved being told to keep silent or lie about what had happened, just so Harry could feel better.

And he didn’t. Harry knew that. He remained quiet when Testig opened the door and stared at them, then sniffed the air.

“You’ve used blue fire, Mr. Malfoy,” said Testig, with a tilt of her head and a slow spreading of her feathers that looked respectful. “Was it justified?”

“Entirely.” Draco drew himself up the way Harry imagined he would have done if he was a soldier before a leader he really admired. “Valena Lavaliere kidnapped my mate and were holding him in a box that bore magic which reacted badly to the touch of Veela wings and claws.” He abruptly seized one of Harry’s hands and turned it over. Harry jumped. He hadn’t expected that, and he wasn’t in time to hide the burns that mottled his palms and the heels of his hands.

Testig surged forwards and stood staring down at them for a moment. Then she looked back up, and Harry actually recoiled at what blazed in her eyes, although he hadn’t when he watched Lavaliere being scarred. “I see. You want us to take care of this?”

“I claimed the part of the revenge I safely could. I scarred her. I wanted to kill her, and her mate, but Harry…” Draco leaned towards Harry and let his wing fall softly over his hair and shoulders, and pulled him close, rubbing his cheek into his hair.

He didn’t say what Harry had done, but apparently Testig didn’t need it translated. “He decided to save your soul,” she said, with a nod. “Well done, Mr. Potter. In the meantime, I will lead several professors to this house, if you will give me the Apparition coordinates.” She paused, and gave Draco a look so piercing and serious Harry was surprised Draco didn’t flinch in front of it. “ _You_ take care of your mate, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I never intended to do anything else, Professor.” Draco’s head was held so high that Harry wasn’t sure he could see Testig’s face. He snorted a little, then gasped as Draco abruptly tugged him closer to his side.

“You hear that? You have more bruises than I thought. I’ll take you to your room.”

“Wouldn’t a healer be better?” Harry muttered, even as they turned down the corridor and Testig bustled back into the classroom. Harry could hear her telling something to her students, probably that class was dismissed. But his burns had begun to ache, and he had trouble enough keeping up with Draco and not letting his wings drag on the ground.

“If you had broken ribs or something similar to that, of course. But I’m your _mate_. I’m going to take care of you.”

Draco’s hand dropped into the middle of his back, radiating strength and warmth. Harry found himself closing his eyes without even meaning to. It was nice to lean back against a hand like that, to know it would support him no matter what.

“You can let go, Harry.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, and did. 

*

Draco kept his word.

The minute they got back to his rooms, he drew his wand and cast a spell that cut Harry’s modified robes and shirt off him, fully exposing his skin and wings. Harry flushed a little, but Draco had seen it all before. He held still as Draco came up and cast a few spells that made his bruises and burns numb and dull.

Then Draco bent down and took up one of Harry’s hands, looking at the burns on his fingertips carefully. Harry watched him with a touch of caution, but to his surprise, Draco didn’t start ranting about how Lavaliere and Kevin deserved to die. He just considered the burns gravely for long minutes, as if he was deciding on the best way to heal them.

Then he reached down and slurped Harry’s fingers into his mouth. Harry gasped, eyes wide.

Draco traced his tongue carefully along Harry’s fingers, down into the webs of skin between them, and back up towards the tips. Harry had to close his eyes as his balls tightened. He knew Draco didn’t mean to arouse him, not really, and _now_ he blushed for having such an inappropriate response.

“Do stop acting as if I’m about to snap at you, Harry. Saliva and sex are one way of healing.”

Harry opened his eyes. Draco had lifted his head and was smiling at him, but what mattered more to Harry was that his fingers were utterly clean of burns, except for some pink, new-healed skin.

“How did you _do_ that?”

“I just told you,” Draco said, and his eyes flashed for a moment as he reached out, put his hands on Harry’s shoulders, and turned him around. “I’d be a piss-poor mate if I couldn’t heal you of your injuries.”

Harry bowed his head and sighed as Draco began to mouth at the feathers on his wings that had burned. “I know, but—I didn’t know you could do anything like this.”

“Hmmm. Well, they wouldn’t think you would need healing classes in your first fortnight.” Draco’s mouth got busy then, and Harry dropped bonelessly forwards. Draco lifted his head and laughed a little, ignoring the groan that Harry made when his lips weren’t on Harry’s wings anymore. “Let’s get you on the bed.”

Draco laid Harry out on his stomach, and Harry closed his eyes as Draco nipped and licked at his wings. Everything felt so exquisitely sensitive, right on the edge where he would have to either laugh or pull away.

But he didn’t have to do either; the pleasure never tilted over into pain, and all he did was relax and sigh further as Draco’s fingers surged through his feathers, combing and pulling, and then separated them.

“There. You’re healed, and you look beautiful.” For a moment, Draco’s voice deepened, and Harry wriggled his arse hopefully. But Draco ignored that and leaned over him with his hands braced on Harry’s shoulder blades, whispering into his ear. “I hope you never tell me again that I should spare an enemy. The only consolation I have is that Lavaliere _won’t_ look beautiful.”

Harry reached back, groping for a moment until he found Draco’s hand, and could hold it. “I wanted to spare you from having to kill.”

“I told you. I want to kill willingly in those moments, and I wouldn’t feel the same way about it that I would have if I’d had to kill Professor Dumbledore. You can’t spare me from anything by stopping me.”

Harry snorted breathlessly and tried to wriggle over so he could see Draco’s face. “I didn’t get that impression from Professor Testig when we were telling her what happened and she—”

“Yes, fine, not all Veela agree,” Draco snapped, and draped himself over Harry, seemingly increasing his weight, so that Harry couldn’t turn over after all. “But you ought to know…Harry, you’ve suffered so much. You’ve had so few people to fight for you. I just want to fight for you, that’s all.”

“Some of that is because I had to save myself. And I didn’t have friends until I went to Hogwarts.”

Draco’s wings beat up and down, flashing like tossed silver coins in the corners of Harry’s eyes. “Telling me that isn’t a great way to make me happy with having to spare your relatives.”

“Just explaining the cause.” Harry sighed. “It does mean a lot that you want to battle for me. But I like the desire more than the actual battle. Okay?”

“Okay,” Draco said back, and then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the back of Harry’s neck. Harry arched, the desire to resist spilling out of him, and Draco chuckled against his skin. “Now I can take care of you the way I know you were thinking about back in that house, when I was trying so hard to seduce you.”

“Yes,” Harry said, voice thick, and let Draco pull him over. His wings were beating and quivering, but they couldn’t really go anywhere when they were beating against Draco’s knees. Draco got him settled on his side, up against pillows so his wings wouldn’t be trapped, and then reached out and picked up his wand.

Harry felt the wand probe against his arse, and instinctively spread his legs wider. Behind him, Draco’s breathing took on a hard edge.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” Draco said, and his voice was crooning and high, the way it had been when he was trying to convince Harry to let him kill Kevin and Lavaliere. _There must be something wrong with me,_ Harry thought as he arched and twisted, made all the hotter by the thought of Draco barely controlling himself. “I wanted to hurt them, and then _take_ you right there. Make them watch. All the things I can have that they never can. That’s what I wanted.” His voice was shrill near the end, whistles breaking out around his words.

“I wanted that, too,” Harry said, and he could never say that anywhere else, except here, in bed with Draco casting a lubrication spell on him and his desires running across his skin in little hot ripples. “I wanted—I didn’t want you to kill them, I never wanted that, but when you scarred Lavaliere…”

“Yes? What did you feel, Harry?”

Harry moaned. He didn’t want to say it, but Draco’s fingers might as well have reached down his throat and hooked his voice out. “I wanted you—to.”

“Yes, I know,” Draco said, and he sounded smug and desperate. He reached down and tested Harry’s hole for a second with his fingers, then shook his head. Hair and feathers whispered against Harry’s back. “I’m sorry. I can’t wait anymore.”

“I’ve been waiting since that house.”

Draco plunged into him, sudden and violent, his nails scraping Harry all over. Harry arched back as hard as he could, and felt Draco bury his head against Harry’s collarbone to escape his beating wings. Their wings tangled, and Harry shuddered again. The ripples and Draco’s cock were _working_ him.

“You’re so,” Draco said, and didn’t finish, maybe couldn’t finish. Harry looked back at him once, and caught a glimpse through silver and white and blue and black feathers of Draco bobbing, his eyes fluttering like his wings, his cock sliding deeper into Harry with each strike. His claws slipped and shivered along Harry’s shoulders.

They didn’t hurt. They just drove him unbearably high, and Harry thought of falling off the cliff in Draco’s arms and wings, his own wings beating frantically behind him. He dropped his head forwards and accepted the way that Draco was winding his strokes up, and up.

He was going to come. It was a forgone conclusion. No one could suffer from this much pleasure and not do it. Harry knew it. His breath was coming faster, and faster, and he couldn’t—he couldn’t move—

“I told you I would do all the work.” Somehow—he must have had to lean all the way over and crane his neck and twist his head—Draco’s tongue found Harry’s ear, and Harry bucked and shouted. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

The pleasure boiled and puddled. He couldn’t move. Draco rode him, his wings flaring out hard and then coming to a shivering stop for a moment before they began to beat again. Harry caught his breath and coughed. It was the only movement he could make, that one little flutter of his lungs.

“Harry,” Draco cooed into his ear, and gripped him on the hips this time. Harry thought he was half-hovering above the bed, cutting in with his cock and not his claws, and then he tilted his head back and sang, like a phoenix, high and shrill and _beautiful_.

He sang Harry’s orgasm out of him, and Harry shouted in pure, helpless bliss. He rode the bucking pleasure, moving now, but still only twisting back and forth on his knees while his wings hammered, and Draco hummed into his ear and licked the lobe again.

Draco followed much the same way, except that it was a single, shrill note tearing its way out of his mouth, and a sudden stillness. Harry reached back and managed to slide his hand over the side of Draco’s neck and up to his jaw before Draco’s weight slumped against his back. 

Harry lay down carefully, making sure to keep his wings free of the bed, and then Draco woke up and sighed and stood. “Stay here. I’ll go and get a cloth.”

Harry rolled his head and caught a glimpse of Draco as he went into the bathroom. “Why not just a charm?”

“I’m bloody exhausted, that’s why. And I _want_ to clean you up.”

Harry closed his eyes and lay still, breathing, while Draco came back out with the warm, wet cloth. It took a while, which probably meant he’d cleaned himself up first. Harry couldn’t mind, not even when it led to him lying there in cooling wetness and his wings feeling as though someone had run them through a Muggle washing machine.

Draco was taking care of him.

And there was the touch of the warm cloth, actually before he’d expected it, smoothing down his hip and between his wings. Harry canted his head to the side and lifted his legs, and Draco chuckled and cleaned them up, too. 

“You’re beautiful,” Draco whispered, and this time, Harry couldn’t find it in himself to disagree or turn away.

Draco cleaned him so thoroughly that Harry’s skin finally began to feel scrubbed and too pink, and he put his hand out so that he could stop Draco. He got a kiss on the lips, and then the fingertips, and Draco stepped back and went to put the cloth away.

When he came back, Harry sat up and reached out to his wings. He knew Draco had been burned, too, and—

His fingers found nothing except an expanse of snowy white feathers. He paused and blinked at Draco, knowing he looked stupid, but unable not to. “I was going to try to heal you the way you did me. But it’s—gone?”

“I told you,” said Draco, looking pleased as he drew Harry into another kiss. “Sex and saliva. Those heal a Veela.”

Which meant Draco had really healed himself, but when Harry tried to complain about that, already upset that he’d let Draco take on so much responsibility, Draco shook his head and kissed him hard. “We healed ourselves,” he said. “ _Together_.” And he lay down and began idly playing with Harry’s cock, sending a flush of heat up it that made Harry stop complaining with a snap of his teeth.

Harry ended up on pillows, fluttering his wings and cooing while Draco sucked him off again.

And when they were both finally sated and Draco was asleep beside him again, Harry had to look at him and shake his head a little. 

They were _both_ good for each other. It was something Harry could never have imagined when he first changed into a Veela and saw the way that Draco was so intent on claiming him as his mate.

But they were here now, and Harry fell asleep, content, in his mate’s embrace.


	30. Veela Justice

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Thirty—Veela Justice_

“If you would explain what happened when Mr. Lavelle brought what he said was a gift to your room, Mr. Potter?”

Harry nodded and spent a moment scrubbing the sweat off his hands against his trousers. He hadn’t expected the professors to bring in any Veela from the outside to make their judgment, given that both Kevin and Lavaliere were students of the school. But apparently they were intent on making this as unbiased as possible. The woman in front of Harry wore silver rings that shimmered with protective magic so intense it hurt his teeth, and her hair was braided and hanging most of the way down her back.

And she had both black bars and silver ones on her wings, which meant she was probably mated to the tall Veela woman on the other side of the room who had the same colors in opposite rows.

“He said that he was supposed to give the gift to me and my mate both at once, so Draco wouldn’t think he was trying to woo me away,” said Harry. He found it easier to keep his eyes on the tall woman, as intimidating as she was—she had said her name was Pearlina, but Harry couldn’t call her that—than on Kevin and Lavaliere, slumped on chairs to his left. “I told him Draco was asleep. Then he had me bend down to open the gift, and sent the powder up into my face.”

Pearlina nodded, and glanced at Testig. Testig turned without ceremony to Kevin and said, “Tell us if that’s true, Mr. Lavelle.”

Kevin didn’t look up or act as if he’d heard, he was so involved in his trance of despair. “It’s true.”

“Did your mate tell you what the powder did before she told you to take it to Potter and Malfoy?” Testig asked.

“She told me. She said it would render them unconscious. She said I had to get both of them because otherwise the remaining mate could track them.”

There was a long, indrawn breath among several of the professors. Harry saw Helios shaking his head in disgust.

But Pearlina, who took up the questioning in turn, didn’t look as if she was particularly disgusted. She only appeared blank. “And why did you do as she asked? To hurt fellow students you had no quarrel with?”

“I’m in love with her.” Kevin had never sounded like he was in love, Harry thought, only like he was doing something he didn’t like, but then again, that wasn’t any different than he had sounded so far. “And they’d insulted Valena. I had to—I had to do what she told me.” Kevin was staring at his hands.

“What did she intend to do to Potter and Malfoy once you captured them both?”

“She didn’t tell me that.”

Pearlina faced Lavaliere this time, and spread her wings. Harry blinked as he saw the colors on her wings beginning to rotate. He glanced at Draco, wanting to ask whether _they_ could do that. Draco’s wide eyes told him as surely as words that Draco didn’t know, however.

“Look at me, Valena Lavaliere, pure-blood Veela, the aggressor we are here to try.”

Lavaliere’s neck jerked abruptly straight up. Her eyes were painfully wide, her claws digging into her hands. But she didn’t look away from the colors. Perhaps she couldn’t, Harry thought, and was glad that he had managed to avert his eyes before he was captured the same way.

“Tell me what you intended to do with Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy once you had captured them.”

“I was going to make sure that neither of them ever saw each other again.”

Draco erupted into the air, or tried. His wings were spread and he was aiming his face at Lavaliere with an odd look of peace on it, as if he was concentrating very hard on a problem in Arithmancy.

Harry grabbed Draco’s ankle and dragged him back down on the chair. He thought some of the professors were staring, or maybe nodding, but he couldn’t take the time to look at them. He was too busy holding Draco back by wrapping his arms around him and holding him while he bucked and struggled.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” said Pearlina, without turning a hair. “Now, Valena, I want you to explain what you meant by that statement.”

“I was going to take their eyes. So that they couldn’t see each other again.”

Harry ducked his head against Draco’s hair to muffle his own screech. Those Veela instincts were rising up in him again, but this time, they were urging him to tear into the woman across from him. What did she think she was _doing_? Did she not realize it was dangerous, or did she just not care?

“Why did you want to do that?” Pearlina still sounded unmoved.

“They’re transformed Veela. They shouldn’t be here. They insulted me! And then one of them scarred me. How can I live like this?” 

A whining tone was creeping into Lavaliere’s voice. Harry held tight to Draco, and shook, and hoped the questioning would be over soon. He wasn’t sure what he would do to Lavaliere if she remained within his reach.

“I was under the impression that the scarring only took place after you had kidnapped them.”

“They _annoyed_ me,” said Lavaliere, and her wings rattled. Harry clenched his teeth. He didn’t want to go over there and kill her. Pearlina and the professors were here so that he wouldn’t have to kill her, so Draco wouldn’t try to take justice for him. He had to remember that.

He hoped again that the questioning would end soon.

“That’s a pathetic excuse,” said Pearlina, making Harry jump. Other than the words, though, there was no change in her voice, no sign that she disliked Lavaliere. “I want to know what the real reason was.”

“I—wanted them _gone_. They stared at me and despised me for having a human mate. They didn’t see that I was beautiful. They should never have been admitted to the school in the first place.”

“Still a pathetic excuse. I want the real reason, Valena.”

Lavaliere writhed, in the corner of Harry’s vision, as though someone was dragging a hot rope over her skin. Her scar shimmered and burned as if someone had stroked it into life. Harry still had to close his eyes, though. He had the urge to fly over and give her another strike down her face that matched it.

“Perhaps I can provide some insight, if she won’t speak?” That sounded like Professor Grunnell, but Harry still didn’t dare to open his eyes and check.

“Please do so, Miranda.”

“Valena had recently begun to neglect her classes. Some of them, I think she thought were beneath her level, things she already knew because she grew up as part of our culture. Others she had simply failed. She spent too much time bragging that she was good at partner flying, and then when Professor Helios chose to test her, she turned out to be incapable of not injuring the one she was flying with.”

“And that is enough to make her kidnap someone?”

“There is the reason behind the neglect of her classes, Honored Inquisitor.”

_At least she’s better than Umbridge,_ Harry thought, and then had to concentrate on the way Draco held onto him and breathed against him. Thoughts of Umbridge were _not_ helping him calm down.

“Well? Continue.” From the sound, Pearlina had beat her wings down hard, once.

“She had begun to fear that her human mate meant she was not as good as the Veela who took Veela mates. She told me, more than once, that she worried what her mother would think.”

“Did she not have her mate when she left her home?”

“It is my understanding that she pretended to be mated to a young Veela who had only visited her parents’ nest once, Honored Inquisitor. Once she got away, then she came here with Kevin. And the fear festered at her and drove her steadily mad. She was near the end of her time here, if she had continued to concentrate on her classes. Then she would have to go home and explain her human mate to her family.”

Kevin made a small moaning noise. Harry could imagine what he was feeling, both because he knew what _he_ would feel if Draco was ashamed of him and because it must hurt to love Lavaliere so much and know part of her disdained him.

But that didn’t mean Harry felt any sympathy for him. Sympathy was going to be impossible as long as he remembered what Kevin and Lavaliere had done, and the scar no longer seemed like enough punishment.

_Holy shit. Is this what Draco feels when he thinks about the Dursleys and the Ministry?_

If so, well, Harry still didn’t want Draco killing anyone for him, but he was going to have to apologize for doubting the intensity of his feelings.

“And what reason does that give her to attack another mated Veela pair who had done nothing to her?” asked Pearlina.

“She was doing it because she was jealous and she’s young, Honored Inquisitor,” said Professor Grunnell, and she was uncomfortable, if the rustling of her wings was any indication. “It doesn’t give her an excuse. But I have to say that I think that’s why she did it.”

“Mr. Potter. We have something to ask you. You shall have to look up.”

Harry cautiously sat back a little, although he kept his arms around Draco, and turned to face Pearlina before he opened his eyes. It was all right, he decided. He didn’t want to see Lavaliere right now, but he didn’t have the compulsion to attack her. “Yes?” He didn’t think he could make the title of “Honored Inquisitor” not sound sarcastic.

“Tell me about the kind of magic that you felt when you were trying to escape the crate and answer the call of your mate.”

Harry told her about that willingly enough, the burns on his fingers and wings, and the way that Draco had burned himself trying to break in. Pearlina’s face changed for the first time, turning cold and hard. But she never looked at Lavaliere.

That might have been what made Lavaliere whimper in fear a moment later, in fact. Better to be looked at than completely ignored like that.

“She could not have managed that much on her own,” said Testig, a second later, her wings quivering and her eyes as hard as talons. “Are you prepared to consider my theory, Honored Inquisitor? It’s true that I don’t think Valena was _the_ villain behind this, but she was a tool for the people who were.”

_More enemies?_

Draco turned his head so that his cheek was brushing Harry’s. His croon was so soft and calm that Harry felt it more than heard it. He felt it shudder through him and soothe him, and he sighed and slumped a little.

From the discussion that followed, it appeared the enemies were nothing to do with Harry and Draco. Rather, Testig and some of the other professors had suspected for a time that a different Veela enclave wanted to discredit the school because they taught skills that those other Veela supported only passing down through the families.

_Apparently they think that transformed Veela like Draco and me shouldn’t be taught at all,_ Harry thought drowsily, and let his mind dart in and out of the words. There was a lot of technical language he didn’t understand, and a lot of speculation about how they might have manipulated Lavaliere through her prejudices.

Harry didn’t care that much about it. Luckily, he didn’t have to care. The issue was settled that Lavaliere and Kevin would have to leave the school and return to her parents.

Lavaliere did speak up then, in a stuttering voice that told Harry Professor Grunnell had probably been right about how much she feared to bring a human mate home to her parents. “P-please don’t make me. Let me finish my last classes here, and then—then I’ll go somewhere else and take my m-mate with me. But please don’t exile me.”

Pearlina paused as if she was considering something, and then said, “In such instances, the criminal may only be spared the designated punishment if the victim speaks up and asks that it be so.”

She turned to Harry. In the same moment, Harry felt Draco’s arms grow tight around him, as if Draco was afraid that he might actually do it.

But Harry had no impulse to do so, even if he might have in other circumstances. Lavaliere had hurt his _mate_. She had wanted to do worse. She had tried to separate them, tried to kill them, and had intended to blind them. He could forgive a lot for himself, but none of that for Draco. He snuggled his chin into Draco’s neck and stayed silent.

Draco’s arms relaxed when he figured out Harry wasn’t going to speak up, and of course _he_ wasn’t going to, either. Pearlina nodded as if it was only mildly interesting that they hadn’t, and she nodded to Lavaliere.

“The punishment stands. Immediate return to her family.”

“Is that all?” Draco asked then, and his wings spread and beat up and down as if he wanted to lift both himself and Harry off the chairs they sat in. “It doesn’t seem like much for attempted murder.”

“You do not understand the full consequences of the punishment, I see,” said Pearlina, with a faint smile that made Harry wonder if she was holding back stronger emotion, or if she really felt none. “When she leaves the school, it is supposed to be a sign that she has finished training her powers and assumed the status of an adult. The fact that she won’t have means she will never be seen as an adult in our society. She will always be a child. Her parents, or anyone else they appoint, will forever have legal power over her.”

Draco gave a small hissing sound like a bird frightening away a predator, and nodded. Harry thought about it, and nodded, too. That would have to be enough. Combined with the scar Draco had given her, he thought Lavaliere and Kevin probably wouldn’t find a welcome anywhere in Veela society.

“I beg you.”

Harry turned around, startled by Kevin’s voice, but not surprised to find himself suddenly enfolded in Draco’s wings so that he couldn’t even see Kevin. He did, though, push the edge of Draco’s wing down. He wanted to see him.

Kevin was kneeling in front of their chairs, his arms held out in front of them and his palms turned upwards. He ducked his head and murmured, “Please forgive her. Please. You don’t know what her family is like, how traditionalist. They’ll hate her more for having a human mate than she hates you for being transformed Veela.”

“What a lucky stroke of fate,” said Draco, in a cheerful voice. “Then she gets to see exactly why it was wrong for her to turn her hatred on us and expect us to simply roll over and accept it.”

“Please,” Kevin repeated in a whisper, sprawling forwards until his palms rested on the floor at their feet.

Harry stirred uncomfortably. Draco wrapped him up in his wings again and crooned at him, and Harry found himself relaxing against his will. Draco was the one who spoke to Kevin. “She only regrets it because she got caught and I scarred her. She doesn’t regret it for any other reason. She would try to kill us again if she thought she would get away with it. Go back to your worthless mate and let her pretend that someone in the world loves her.”

Harry winced, but even Pearlina was only nodding as if this was accepted Veela justice. He watched Kevin walk brokenly back to Lavaliere, and bend down to whisper something in her ear. She began to sob, a sound that cut Harry like knives.

Then Draco blocked Harry’s view with his wings again.

“I think we’ve had enough of that,” he said, and patted Harry’s cheek with a claw that felt more like a fingernail. “Let’s go back to our room and leave them to make their way to Lavaliere’s family.” He paused and looked up at Pearlina. “There’s no reason that you would need us for more, is there?”

“You have done quite enough.” Again there was a faint smile on Pearlina’s lips. “Yes, you may return to your rooms, Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry was glad when Draco escorted him from the room so that he didn’t have to look at Kevin and Lavaliere again. Part of him still felt sorry for them, although mostly because he could remember what it was like to have your family look at you in disgust for something you couldn’t help.

But he was even gladder that he had a mate who would protect him and prevent him from _acting_ on that guilt.

_If that makes me more Veela than I was, at least I’m going to enjoy it._


	31. Wider Dreams

 

“Harry! Sorry to wake you so early, but I had to tell you what I found!”

Harry made a show of rubbing his eyes and yawning, but that wasn’t effective in deterring Hermione. It never had been. She slowed in her tumble through the Floo when a half-naked Draco sat up from behind Harry, though.

“Oh.” Hermione blinked rapidly and ran her hand through her hair. “I didn’t think that you might, ah, have company.”

“Of course you didn’t, Granger.” Draco draped his wing over Harry’s shoulders, concealing the naked part of both their chests, and gave her an amused smile. Harry thought someone would have to be as close as he was to feel the tremors of anger that shook Draco. “Harry’s only a mated Veela with an insatiable lover. Why should you think he would be busy?”

Hermione flushed, and Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s, what, four in the morning? We wouldn’t be busy then. And you’re not insatiable, Draco.”

Draco thought about it, then nodded. “You’re right. I mixed up the words. I should have said _irresistible._ ”

“Whatever you meant,” said Hermione hastily. “I found some regulations and paperwork on the Aurors working with Veela, Harry. I mean, I think it’s pure-blood Veela, like the ones here, not you and Fleur, but _still_.”

Draco leaned forwards. “Prejudice towards transformed Veela isn’t something that most outside schools and the culture itself understand. Show us what you found, Granger.”

Hermione rolled her eyes—Harry had to admit Draco’s tone had sounded like a lord commanding the peasants—but she finally reached into her pocket and pulled out a rolled stack of parchment. When she laid it on the table, she also waved her wand over it so it enlarged and they could read it without getting out of bed.

Harry shifted, and found Draco’s wing curling around him almost hard enough to strangle him or break the feathers. He sighed and leaned back against him. This time, Hermione had judged well. Draco wasn’t letting him out of the bed while she was in the room.

“It’s pretty simple, actually,” Hermione explained, pushing her thicker hair back from her face so she could smile at the parchment. “Veela aren’t allowed on most criminal actions because they might break rules or enchant the Aurors…but once the criminals are dangerous enough, they’re valued because their allure can take down some criminals harmlessly.”

“I’m not sure that I want Harry using his allure on anyone but me.”

Harry turned his head to nuzzle at Draco’s chin. Draco promptly sat up and chirped, fanning out his wings and looking at Hermione as if to say that she didn’t have what he did. Harry flushed, Hermione rolled her eyes, and Draco shook his head and continued, “Do we have to use our allure?”

“Well, other powers would work if you have them, too.” Hermione shrugged. “Allure is just the one everyone knows about, and that’s the reason it’s mentioned the most in the official records. I don’t mean to come between you and your mate, Malfoy. I’m only telling you what I think the most likely route to official acceptance is.”

Harry noticed how careful and formal her voice had become, and glanced at Draco. “Calm down,” he whispered when he noticed the way that Draco was watching Hermione. “She’s one of my dearest friends.”

“That means she knew you when you were human. She might think she has a claim. Since she knew you before you were my mate.”

“I’m yours now. The past doesn’t matter. Or we would have to spend all our time arguing over which of us was responsible for things that happened at Hogwarts. I’d rather do _this_.”

Harry took Draco’s chin in one hand and kissed him. Draco relaxed at once, falling back onto the pillow, and Harry went with him, winding one of his own wings around Draco’s chest and waist. He wasn’t going to snarl and hiss at Hermione the way Draco did, but he _did_ feel strongly about who got to see his mate half-naked.

When Draco was a puddle of melted muscles and moans under Harry’s hands, Harry shook his head a little and sat back up. “You were saying?” he asked Hermione, who stood with her back politely turned and her eyes on the fire.

“You don’t have to use allure.” Hermione glanced at them sideways and seemed to feel reassured enough to turn around again. “You can use that Shriek you told me about, or any other power you have. Your wings and claws. But there are a lot of dangerous cases where the regulations don’t let the Aurors get close in case they get injured, you know that.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He had been on cases like that, where Aurors yelled at each other not to let a Dark wizard or a smuggler or someone who had been chopping off body parts to use in potions escape, but couldn’t venture close in case one of them got cursed themselves. Harry had usually broken the rules and come up with something brilliant and unorthodox, which was one reason for his high solve rate.

But now, he could _be_ that brilliant and unorthodox thing. It was one of Hermione’s best ideas.

He smiled at her and touched the back of his wing to Draco’s neck when Draco started to sit up again and sounded like he might have objected. “Do you think Kingsley would go for this? He sounded pretty sincere about my not coming back when we spoke through the Floo the other day.”

Hermione gave him a pretty, innocent smile, the kind that encouraged people to underestimate her in the field of magical law all the time. “Kingsley will be fine with it. Or he’ll be having a little talk with me about a discrimination lawsuit and the kind of damage it would do the Ministry if he refused to hire you back.”

Harry laughed. “I think he would give up when he realized that he was going to be facing _you_ in court.”

Hermione looked pleased. “Thank you, Harry. That’s sweet of you to say.”

“But what if Harry doesn’t want to go back?” Draco interrupted, his face stern. Only the wing moving in agitation behind his neck told Harry how anxious he really was. “We’ve already discussed that. He could be a consultant, but not an Auror. He doesn’t want to, and _I_ don’t want him to.”

“This would still be more like a consultant than anything else,” said Hermione soothingly. From the way she was watching Draco, Harry thought she had probably done some reading about Veela and how to approach their mates. “He would be able to choose the cases he wants to work on. And he could refuse if one was too dangerous.”

“And there would be room for two Veela, as well as one?”

“I think you would have to undergo some training,” said Hermione cautiously. “I thought Harry would be a good fit for this because he already has Auror training.”

“That’s all right.” Draco’s eyes were burning, and his hand rested mock-casually on Harry’s shoulder. “You can’t think of everything, Granger.”

“But would you be willing to go to training?”

“Far more willing than I would be to let my mate fly into danger without me.”

Hermione studied Draco for a second. Harry held his breath. He wanted his friends to get along with his mate. He hadn’t known _how_ badly he wanted it until he saw why and how it might not work.

“All right,” Hermione said. “I know some former Aurors who provide that kind of training. Mainly to dueling students, but they would be intrigued by the challenge of working with a transformed Veela, I think.”

“Good.” Draco smiled. “And of course, Harry can do some training of me, too.” His hand slid down Harry’s chest.

“Not in anything right now,” Harry told him, catching his wrist and gently urging his hand away. Draco pouted, but lay obediently back against the pillows. “I want you to be serious about this, Draco. Does it sound like something good for _both_ of us?”

“It’ll have to be, won’t it?” Draco’s eyes had that familiar stubborn glint that Harry had seen during Lavaliere and Kevin’s trial. “Because I won’t let you go into danger on your own. That’s always going to be true. And it would be true even if it didn’t affect my life, too.”

Harry kissed the center of his palm and faced Hermione again. “Thanks for finding this, Hermione. We were going to _make_ the Aurors accept us as consultants, but we didn’t really know how to do it.”

Hermione’s mouth firmed into a small smile. “I know. And it’s no problem, Harry. I would do a lot to make my friends happy.” She gave Draco a pointed look that Harry only got the meaning of when she spoke again. “And to _keep_ them happy.”

“Then get ready to protect me, Granger. Because I’m _essential_ to Harry’s happiness.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I never thought you weren’t, Malfoy. I’m only saying…”

Harry listened carefully to the bickering that followed. To him, it sounded a lot like the way Ron and Hermione used to bicker with each other when they were kids, before they had started to notice each other as worthy of dating.

And since Harry had no worry that Draco would ever want to date Hermione, he could enjoy the unusual feeling of something going his way since the Veela transformation. Draco and his friends could get along. His life would be a lot better because of that.

He actually fell asleep before Hermione left, and he knew that the small smile on his face didn’t completely come from the warmth of Draco’s wing wrapped around him.

*

Of course, the next morning made up for things going well with a vengeance.

There had apparently been an essay in Testig’s class that Harry had completely forgotten about, strange as it was to him that he _could_. She gave him silent glances of contempt when he tried to defend himself, and in the end, Harry decided that he would simply have to write the essay and see if he could turn it in later.

And there were stares and whispers when he and Draco went to lunch, too. Harry turned demandingly at Draco to explain that one. Draco snorted and draped a wing over his shoulders again in response.

“They’re envious of us,” he said aloud, so that everyone could hear them as they walked into the dining hall. “They know that they’ll never have a bond with their mates as strong as the one _we_ have.” And he preened and strutted, seeming confident that all the mutters around them were merely of awe.

 _That’s the exact attitude that’ll make us more enemies among the pure-blood Veela,_ Harry thought in frustration, but he didn’t really want to try to get Draco’s smile to dim, either. He only leaned his head on his shoulder and let Draco feed him most of the cut fruits, vegetables, and bread that he seemed determined Harry should eat.

And then came the afternoon, when Professor Helios came up to them as they stepped out of a history class and told them that the time had come to see if they could control their powers when they were apart from each other.

“Of course it’s easy to control your allure when you’re right next to your mate and not thinking about wanting anyone but him,” said Helios, his voice a little condescending. Harry wondered if it was because Draco was holding his hand in the middle of the corridor, and wouldn’t let Harry pull it away no matter what happened. “It’s going to be harder when you’re apart even the length of a room.”

“I don’t want someone to steal him,” Draco said simply. He didn’t move a step from Harry’s side, even though Helios was gesturing him towards one of the outer doors of the school.

“No one will steal him.” Helios studied Draco’s face for a second, and then shook his head. “Are you worried that the enemies who used Lavaliere will attack? They will not. We are aware of them now, and the Honored Inquisitor is handling them.”

“She wasn’t before.”

“She is now.” Helios clapped his wings when Draco remained steady and immovable. “Mr. Potter, will you reassure him that you’re not going to disappear? You don’t have to go out of sight of each other, if you wish. To opposite ends of the corridor, and then attempt to focus your allure on me, Mr. Potter, with no more intention than making me move a step forwards.”

Harry cleared his throat as he remembered the way that Helios had almost attacked him when his allure went out of control before. “Are you sure, Professor? I mean, ah—”

“Yes, that was embarrassing, wasn’t it?” Helios agreed calmly, without a sign that he was actually embarrassed by the recollection. “But that will make it a good test now. If I don’t respond in that same way, then we’ll know for sure that your allure is mastered.”

Harry grimaced a little, but ignored the way that Draco’s wing tried to remain heavily draped across his shoulders, and eased back a little. “If you’re sure that you want to try this, Professor…”

“I’m sure we must.”

“Then let’s get on with it,” Harry muttered, not daring to glance at Draco as he walked towards the far end of the corridor.

Draco stood still for a few seconds, and then backed towards the far doors. His spine remained straight, his wings out and quivering, and he never took his gaze from Harry. Harry was sure that he would hear about this later. For now, though, he had to focus on Professor Helios’s encouraging expression.

“That’s right,” Helios said. “Think about what you want me to do. Bend all your thoughts on that. Think of focusing your allure like a light, if that will help.”

Harry swallowed. Now that he was thinking about it, instead of thinking about Draco or classwork, he could feel the allure wavering and flickering around him like a flag tossed by the wind. He hoped that he would be able to make it do what he wanted.

_I want Draco beside me._

Well, they could get together again the moment he had done what Professor Helios had demanded. And it _was_ true that it wouldn’t be much good for their future plans if Harry had to have Draco right beside him to control the allure. What would happen if he arrived at an Auror case just a few minutes before Draco?

“When you’re ready, Mr. Potter.”

 _Come to me,_ Harry called to Professor Helios, and then flinched as he watched his eyes glaze over. There was just something _wrong_ about seeing that expression on the face of anyone but his mate. _But not much. Just one step. That’s all I want. That’s all I command you to do,_ he added hastily, in the privacy of his mind.

He had no idea if he was doing it right. He wished that Professor Helios had taken some time to explain it further.

Helios tottered one step towards him. His wings were stirring now, but nothing compared to the fast, shimmering beat of Draco’s wings.

Harry sighed and attempted it again. On the one hand, he didn’t want to let his allure escape his grip; on the other hand, there would be a problem if it was too weak, because then he couldn’t make criminals do what he wanted. He backed up a step, and focused again, trying to envision Professor Helios being caressed by his will and the allure together. _I backed up. That means you have to come towards me again._

Helios came forwards another step.

Harry shuddered in relief and let go of the allure. It was too bloody disturbing, having to control his professor like that, and watching him stumble and look around him with glazed eyes. Besides, Draco was making a noise that resembled a shriek being barely muffled by his mouth, and Harry thought that he should probably get to him before someone’s hands or head got torn off.

“You are much more in control of it than you were,” said Helios, with a faint nod. “That’s better than I expected, Mr. Potter.” He watched the way Harry skimmed past him and landed next to Draco, reaching out to trace his cheekbones with the tips of his wings. “You will have to be able to spend longer periods of time apart from your mate, you know.”

Harry swallowed. He did know that, and the knowledge shouldn’t shake him to the core as much as he did. But they had time to practice before they tried contacting the Aurors about becoming special additions to cases.

And for now, the warmth and weight of Draco against his shoulder was all he needed. So he could even nod to Helios and close his eyes, and snuggle closer.

_We’ll get there. But for now, we need each other._


	32. Learning to Be Alone

“I think the incident with Lavaliere reversed some of the progress you had been making in acting alone.”

Harry blinked. When Testig had asked them to stay after her class and then seat themselves on the cushions in the center of her classroom, with glasses of tea that she’d made for them, he hadn’t thought this would be what she wanted to talk about.

“What do you mean, progress in acting alone?” Draco frowned at Testig, and let one wing drape over Harry’s shoulders, the way he’d been doing lately. The warmth and weight of the wing meant it was actually a little uncomfortable to have it there, but Harry ignored that for the feeling of solace it gave him.

“That. This.” Testig gestured between them. Harry looked down, but could find nothing except their entwined hands. “When you leave the school, you will no longer be able to be with each other all the time. This is an artificial period in your lives, one that involves you learning and growing. It is an important time, but when it’s done, you have to be able to stand on your own.”

“Of course we can! Professor Helios had Harry test his control over his allure the other day, and he could control it so it just influenced Helios a little.”

“The professor gave me a different report on that incident. He told me that you were visibly distressed to be apart from each other, and that you and Mr. Potter practically collided with each other the moment the test was done.”

Harry flushed. He could feel the way Testig’s eyes raked him, and he thought she must believe it was mostly his fault. Draco had been a Veela longer than he had, of course, and should have better control.

“I don’t see any reason why I should be apart from my mate.”

“I understand that _you_ don’t, Mr. Malfoy,” said Testig, with a mild expression that made Harry’s spine prickle. “But if you are truly planning on the career that you told me you were considering today, he may see a reason to be apart from you.”

“I’m going to get some training so I can fight beside him.”

“And until you do? Will he hold your hand every step of the way, as you are doing now?”

Harry stirred, but he knew Draco would be hurt if he tried to take his hand away, and that mattered more to him than Testig’s disapproval. “I know we haven’t been perfect so far, Professor, but we’re getting better.”

“No, you are not. You are more dependent on each other now than you were a week ago, before Valena kidnapped you, Mr. Potter. You often sat apart from each other then, and touched each other only when you thought no one was looking. Now you touch each other constantly in class, to the point where you are distracting the other students.”

“Then we’ll leave the school! Anything to avoid disturbing _the other students_.”

“Stop issuing idle threats, Mr. Malfoy. You know as well as I do that you are not leaving until you get your Veela powers under control.” Testig moved her wings thoughtfully up and down for an instant. “You will get better, but not unless someone else forces you to get better. I don’t think it will happen if you sit here and hope for it.”

“You make us sound like children…”

“At the moment, Mr. Malfoy, you are _behaving_ like children, acting as if I am threatening you by simply stating the facts.”

Draco hesitated an instant, but then leaned against Harry and put his chin on his shoulder. “I want my mate near me. That’s not unusual for a newly-bonded couple. You’re acting as though we’re—I don’t know, holding hands to bother other people. Not for the sake of it. Not because we need it.”

“But you are no longer such a newly-bonded couple. The rings that appeared on your wings did so more than a week ago. And your bond and your courting have taken longer than that.” Testig rolled her eyes, and even though Harry didn’t know for sure, he thought it was because of the stubborn set to Draco’s chin. “I would prefer not to address this, either. But as a professor at this school, I must speak when I see your education going in the wrong direction.”

“What do you mean, wrong direction?” Harry asked. That sounded more serious than just annoying the other students.

Testig looked at him, seeming glad for the distraction from Draco. “You are meant to be able to stand on your own when this is done—bonded to your mate, but also individuals, the best of both worlds. Instead, you are growing so close that I fear you will end up only bonded.”

“I—don’t feel like that when I’m apart from Draco,” Harry had to say. “I don’t feel like I’m going to collapse without him.”

“Really.” Testig sat back, arms folded and wings mimicking the posture across her back. “Then you won’t mind if you go to the far side of the room near the door and Mr. Malfoy goes to the other wall?”

“Of course not,” Harry said, a little baffled, and let go of Draco’s hand and moved away from his wing. He was thinking as he walked that they’d been apart plenty of times, other than for Professor Helios’s exercise and this. Testig was exaggerating. Every time they went to the bathroom they were apart, for one thing.

Harry turned around. He was startled to see that Draco hadn’t moved from his posture on the cushions, his wings huddled around him and his eyes so bright and piercing Harry reached out a hand.

“Come on, Draco. It’s okay. If I can do this, so can you.”

“As I thought,” said Testig grimly. “Through no fault of your own, Mr. Potter, your bonding has deepened to a dangerous point. It’s why we try to avoid separating our newly-bonded couples too soon. If they feel they’re being tugged apart, they cling to each other harder. Lavaliere accidentally did something that drove you into each other’s arms. I was willing to wait a few days, and see if you healed yourselves. But you have not.”

"But..." Harry trailed off. He was fighting so hard not to move back to Draco, pick him up, and never let him go again.

Which was probably part of the problem Testig was talking about, come to that.

"What can we do to fix it?" Harry finally asked, because Draco hadn't moved except to bring his wings up around him, as if they were a blanket he could hide behind for comfort, and Harry hated seeing him that way.

"You can spend more time apart," said Testig immediately. "Mr. Malfoy had made a few...friendly acquaintances here before you arrived. He hasn't spent any time with them since you became mated. And I know that some of the professors would enjoy the chance to talk with you more, Mr. Potter. The transformed Veela's perspective is not something we often get to enjoy."

Harry bristled despite himself. "Are these people who have the same prejudices as Lavaliere?"

"No," said Testig, so serious that Harry fluttered his feathers. "These are people, like me, who think Lavaliere's bigotry idiocy, but also recognize there _are_ differences between born and transformed Veela. In the way you grew up, if nothing else. We would like to address those differences and see how we can make the next new transformed Veela's shift into our society smoother."

"Oh." Harry felt his feathers lying down. That was a concrete way he could help someone, and from Testig's tiny smile, she might have chosen it for that reason.

But then he looked back at Draco, who was entirely hidden from sight behind a wall of white primaries, and winced. "How can I just leave him like that?"

"He will not die from being left. In the end, he will grow stronger than he will if you coddle him so much that he can do nothing without you."

Harry winced again. _That_ characterization, he understood and agreed with. "But in the first few moments...how can I do it?"

Testig did something complicated with her wings, and suddenly she was between him and Draco. Harry started back. She looked more serious than she had since they fought the duel, her wings flaring wide and her eyes narrowed as though she was going to strike at Harry's face any second.

"You leave him to the mercies of someone who will take care of him." Each of Testig's words was weighted like a silver ingot. "You do what you must, what one of your professors is telling you to do."

Harry shook his head and found his ears were full of noise. He had dropped into a battle crouch without realizing it, his wings spread around him. "I don't want you to hurt him..."

"I didn't say that I would. I promise by all I hold holy, by the circles on my wings, by the way I can fly, by the blood I was born with, that I won't harm him. Only heal him and help make him better."

Harry blinked and dropped his head back, eyeing Testig for a second. Testig let him do it, only watching him with such intensity that Harry was surprised he didn't have a sunburn. And it was easier to let go of his Veela battle instincts even though he'd never heard that oath before. Perhaps some of his different instincts recognized it, or the emotion in her voice.

"I just don't want you to harm him," said Harry, and backed one step away towards the door. It felt as though there was a string between him and Draco that he was pulling taut, and because it was only a string, it would snap soon.

"I would never do so."

With a swallow, Harry finally backed out into the corridor, and shut the door of the classroom behind him. But not before he heard an anguished scream that made him leap forwards again, claws out.

The door wouldn't open, flaring with silent, stubborn blue light at him when he tried. And before he could actually open his mouth and utter a shriek that would hopefully overwhelm Testig and make her let him back in, he heard footsteps behind him.

"Mr. Potter? What's wrong?"

"She has my _mate_ in there," Harry heard himself say, in a voice so guttural he wasn't sure he would have recognized it if he hadn't felt his own breath in his throat. "My _mate._ I have to go to him."

"Would you think the same thing if he was receiving a Healer's treatment that made him scream but which would cure him in the end? I know that you've taken Skele-Gro yourself and suffered from it, but the alternative would have been worse, wouldn't it?"

Harry turned around. Professor Helios was standing behind him, wings fluttering gently and head cocked. He smiled a little, although Harry didn't think there was anything on his face that was funny, and reached out to take Harry's arm, guiding him away from the door.

"I understand that you're upset," Helios told him. "I was the first time I had to spend time apart from my mate, too."

"Why would someone make you do that?" Harry whispered. He craned his neck so he could see the door, but they went around a corner so rapidly that even the edge of the blue glow faded out of sight.

"Because she had developed a dependency on me that I couldn't reciprocate. Most of the time both mates want to be with each other all the time, but my mate was a Veela for several years before I grew my wings and found her. Her desperation and her fear that I would leave her was deeper than mine."

Harry shook his head fervently. “I never wanted to do something like that to Draco. But he was only here a few weeks longer than I was, right? Or a month. Not long enough to get his full powers trained, or he would have left.”

“I believe that Mr. Malfoy insisted on staying here because he thought he would find his mate here.” Helios’s voice was calm and unshakable as he guided Harry into a small room Harry hadn’t seen before. It had enormous circular windows on the walls, all of which framed enchanted vistas of blue sky and floating white clouds, and so many cushions on the floor that Harry had to flap his wings a little so he wouldn’t slip on them. There was no door, and the ceiling soared so high that Harry could only see it by tilting his head back and squinting. The walls were all white.

“What is this place?” Harry whispered, as Helios indicated he should sit, and then went back and brought a cup of tea like the one Testig had drunk with them. Or maybe it was something stronger than tea, Harry thought, as he smelled the scent rising from the cup.

“A place that we bring newly-mated Veela to calm them, when they’re angry that their partner is apart from them for the length of a meal or a class.” Helios handed Harry a thin cup with an orange flower on it, and then lowered himself onto a thick pile of blue cushions. He lounged comfortably even though it looked like he was leaning on his wings. _I’ve got to get him to teach me that trick,_ Harry thought numbly. “Not surprisingly, they recover rapidly.”

“I still want to get back to Draco,” Harry muttered, trying to avoid the professor’s knowing smile as he sipped his drink. Yes, it wasn’t tea.

“Of course you do. We are not trying to cure you of all attachment to your mate. That would be immoral,” said Professor Helios seriously. Harry snorted to himself. Helios smiled a little. “To a Veela, it would. And I think you find yourself becoming increasingly Veela, Mr. Potter.”

“I want to. But how can I avoid becoming a mess, like the ones you were talking about?”

“Did you ever wonder why none of us mated professors seem to spend any amount of time with our mates?”

Harry had to blink. Now that he thought about it, that Inquisitor who had shown up to conduct Lavaliere’s trial was the only one who had apparently brought her mate along. “Do they all work here at the school?”

“No. We’ve trained in going apart from them, because just like human couples, we’re allowed to have different interests and jobs. My mate has no interest in teaching here, at all.” Helios smiled. “In fact, she hated school, and she keeps telling me endlessly that she has no idea why I chose this job.”

“So I need to train in going apart from Draco?”

Helios nodded calmly. “It is natural that you cling to each other right now. What Lavaliere did to you, and the strength of a newborn bond, and the fact that Draco wanted a mate so badly—”

“Why did he? He never told me why. He didn’t even seem to know for sure about the prejudices against transformed Veela.”

“Because Mr. Malfoy is afraid of failing. He is afraid of failing at being a Veela, and he thinks that all Veela must have mates and they must all act in a certain way. I do not think he is conscious of it, but I suspect his clinging to you is in some ways playing a part, showing everyone who looks that he is a successful, mated Veela.”

Harry had to snort. “And if he thinks that, doesn’t that undermine—I mean, it means I’m not as special to him.” He realized he was holding the cup so hard that there was a crack in the lip, and tried to relax his hand.

“It means you are. But there are mixed motives at play, and you do not _have_ to lean on each other as hard as you have been doing to be a good mated pair.”

“That’s good to know,” said Harry quietly. And it honestly was. Not that he wanted to leave Draco behind soon, but there was the sense of being on display when he walked through the school, the scrutinizing stares that made him wonder exactly how much other Veela judged him for being transformed, and having a transformed mate, and mating with someone that clung to him the way Draco did.

“And you see?” Helios asked, spreading his hand out and wriggling his fingers as though he was about to play a magic trick.

Harry looked around, and didn’t see any colored scarves or rabbits hopping out of hats. He blinked and focused on Helios again. “What?”

“You have been here, apart from your mate, for fifteen minutes—well, counting the walk we took here. And you’re not yelling or sweating or looking as if you’ll break down.”

Harry set the cup firmly aside as Draco’s haunted scream seemed to echo in his ears again. “And fifteen minutes is long enough for right now. I want to see Draco again.”

“I’m here, Harry.”

Harry turned, his muscles going limp with relief as he looked at Draco. Draco was disheveled, his hair hanging around his shoulders as if he hadn’t brushed it that morning, but his face as he met Harry’s eyes was calm. And he reached out his arms, and Harry came and gathered him up.

And he wasn’t burning with fever the way Harry had half-imagined he would be. He was there, and as Professor Helios slipped silently out of the room, Harry knew lessons were over for the day. He and Draco had learned what they needed to, according to the professors.

Draco sighed against his shoulder. Harry kissed him. “You know that we’ll have to do it again, according to them.”

“I can put up with that,” Draco whispered against his skin, lips barely moving. “I only want to make sure that I’ll see you again after each trial.”

“I’m yours. Forever and always.”

Draco smiled and Harry kissed him again, softly. All in all, considering what could have happened to them with Lavaliere going after them, and the way Draco had screamed when he left him, he thought they were doing better than well.


	33. Moving On

“Hermione insisted that I speak with you, Harry.”

Harry had just come out of the bathroom and was preparing to leave for breakfast. For once, Draco had got so impatient that he’d gone ahead and left Harry behind to finish his shower. It was something the professors had encouraged, so that they would get more used to being apart from each other.

Harry was just glad that he was already clad in a dressing robe that covered his chest but left his back bare so his wings could droop out. He didn’t want to imagine Draco’s outrage if Kingsley had seen him naked. Or even half-naked.

He’d deliberately left his Floo open so that Kingsley could call if he wanted to, but he hadn’t expected him to. Just now, Harry wondered what would happen if he turned to the side a little and flared his wings, sweeping them up and down so that it was impossible for Kingsley to mentally edit them out of his picture of Harry.

Sure enough, Kingsley flinched a little. Harry nodded. “If Hermione told you to Floo me, then it wasn’t your idea. Right?”

Kingsley tapped his fingers on something, and then said, “I regret the way we parted, Harry. But it’s true that a Veela can’t serve as a traditional Auror. What Hermione told me was that she’d come up with a solution.”

“Yes, and it’s one Draco and I are looking into. But it would involve us both. You can’t have one without the other now.”

“She mentioned that, too.” Kingsley looked as though he was trying to suck one of Dumbledore’s lemon drops. “You understand that we can’t make exceptions for Veela instincts? If one of you gets injured and the other goes mad and kills someone, then you’ll still be tried for murder.”

Harry gave him a smile that made Kingsley jump and stare. “Not so, sir. Hermione brought me some interesting legal documents.” He swept on before Kingsley could try to object that “interesting” and “legal documents” should never be together in the same sentence, the sort of joke Harry would have made with him before all this started. “Ministry of Magic employees who are part-being have been accommodated in the past. Aurors have been given special training to resist Veela allure. And part-goblin employees have been allowed to negotiate with Gringotts at special times and places, even though the Ministry generally tries to ignore the goblins as much as possible. And half-giants have been given bigger offices.”

“That’s all different than—”

“I just gave you a Veela example,” said Harry softly, and stirred his wings. He knew it made him look bigger, and it apparently also made him look a little intimidating, if Kingsley’s expression was anything to go by. “I know that it might take some extra training, but the Aurors who worked with me and Draco would need it anyway.”

“Why?”

“To get used to working with winged partners. And to make sure no one was working with us who was going to taunt Draco for his past or that Mark on his arm.”

“Surely your longest-time partner would object to that the most!”

It took Harry a moment to realize he meant Ron. He snorted. “You think Ron and Hermione have a problem with this? That Hermione would be helping me look up _laws_ if she did?”

“I only meant…” Kingsley trailed off, and went back to watching Harry’s wings as if they were dangerous weapons. Harry didn’t intend to tell him they could be. Kingsley already seemed convinced that Harry was more likely to use them against fellow Aurors than criminals. “Auror Weasley is well-known to be prejudiced against Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry toyed for a moment with the idea of telling Kingsley that he should call Draco “Veela Lord Malfoy,” but Kingsley had probably read the legal documents, too, and knew no such titles existed. “I know, but he’ll do anything for me. Including accepting my mate.”

Kingsley tapped his fingers again. “I want you back, Harry. I mean it. I just don’t know how this is going to _work_. You won’t be able to do the same kinds of tasks that you did before, and I know you would expire of boredom if you were doing paperwork.”

“That’s why I won’t be doing that,” said Harry pleasantly. “Unless you do want me to walk away and seek employment elsewhere. The Ministry can learn to work with me.”

“Ultimately, I’m concerned for _you_ , too, Harry.”

“Why, if you’re not going to assign me to clearing mountains of paperwork?”

“Because people will taunt you. And I know what happens when it comes to taunting a Veela’s mate. The other Veela explodes in rage.”

“Draco and I have had some training in managing that, too, Kingsley.” Harry grimaced as he thought of the professors’ session yesterday, when Grunnell and Testig had held Draco back, and Professor Helios had insulted Harry. Draco had dragged the other two professors several feet across the floor, leaving claw marks in it in the process. “We’ll be all right.”

“So you _say_.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You know I always kept my word before, if not kept to the rules. Why the distrust now?”

Kingsley just looked at him uncomfortably, and Harry jerked his head as the answer came to him. Before, he’d been human. Now he wasn’t. Ultimately, as Kingsley would say, all the words about rage and wings and the rest came down to that.

“It’s different because we have wings and allure,” said Harry. His mouth tasted bitter. He licked his lips, but it didn’t get better. He turned his head to the side and looked blankly at the far wall. Right now, he almost wanted the door to open and Draco to come back looking for him. “It’s always going to be different.”

“I trust you, Harry. I trust that you’ll come up with some way to make sure that your differences don’t unduly influence other Aurors.”

Harry only shook his head and said nothing. He couldn’t really believe this, but now that he thought about it, he supposed there were always signs. People who made jokes about magical creatures as though they didn’t have any intelligence. Some Aurors who insisted on asking him all those questions about Fleur, even though they’d only seen her once when she visited Harry and Ron at the office.

_As though they thought they would uncover the secret to seducing her or…make me not like her or something if they kept asking._

“Harry?”

Harry swallowed and turned to face Kingsley again. “I understand that you’ve gone through a lot of stress recently,” he said quietly. “But that’s not the same thing as the stress _I’m_ going through. And I’m not going to act as if I’m not a Veela because it would make some people more comfortable.”

“You would have to keep your allure under control in any case,” said Kingsley, and he looked a little embarrassed. _Good._ Harry hoped it was about his thoughts. “I’m not asking you to pretend that you’re human, Harry.”

“The problem is,” said Harry, and he folded his wings so that he wouldn’t start beating them and maybe actually put out the fire and end the Floo call altogether, “I hear you say ‘human,’ but what you really mean by that is ‘good person, trustworthy, someone I don’t have to worry about hurting other people.’ Even though Aurors hurt other people _all the time_!”

Kingsley jumped, and then frowned. “If you have specific concerns about one of your fellow Aurors, Harry, you could have come to me a long time ago. It didn’t have to wait for this.”

“You don’t even understand what I mean,” Harry said in wonderment. “You sit there all concerned that Draco and I are going to cause trouble because of what we are, and you don’t understand what I _mean_.”

“This isn’t what I wanted to happen, Harry.” Kingsley’s voice was soft and slow. He held out one hand as if he hoped that Harry would come near and clasp it and be drawn through the Floo. Leaving the school and his mate and all the rest of it behind. “I meant—I meant that I wanted you to think seriously about your ambitions.”

“I’m thinking about them,” said Harry, and ruffled up his feathers. It occurred to him that another Veela would have understood instantly what that meant, but Kingsley didn’t. He relaxed and dropped his hand, smiling at Harry.

“Then you’ll know the kind of training I’ll want you and Mr. Malfoy to go through before I let you really join the Aurors again.”

“I’m thinking about it,” Harry continued in a slightly larger voice, “and I’ve decided I don’t want to be part of the Aurors anymore.”

Kingsley’s mouth tumbled open a little as he stared at Harry. Harry started straight back, his heart so furiously pounding that it almost muffled Kingsley’s voice when he spoke again. Was he sure about this?

_I’m sure I don’t want to be in a place where I’m treated as inferior because of something that I couldn’t help happening to me. Or where Draco is treated like an inconvenient accessory that I insist on carrying around with me._

“I know you never even considered another career! You’ve wanted to be an Auror since you were a _kid_! Harry—”

“Kids don’t always make up their minds right away,” Harry said, and met Kingsley’s gaze calmly, even though part of him was shattering and being replaced with something else. “And they aren’t always right when they do.”

Kingsley ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. The headshake was slow and disbelieving. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I know,” said Harry, and decided that he could toss him a bone, for the sake of the man Kingsley had shown himself to be when Harry didn’t have wings. “And when I couldn’t fly on my own, then you were probably right. Being an Auror was all I ever wanted. Now I just have more things to want, that’s all.”

“Like what?” Kingsley spoke as if he imagined that Harry had an alternate career waiting for him, and was jealous of it.

He had asked, which meant Harry didn’t have to feel bad about it. He smiled at Kingsley. “Like my mate, and the life that we can have together.”

“Harry?”

That was Draco, coming back through the door as Harry had thought he eventually would. He reached out a hand, and Draco took it. He didn’t look happy about Harry not being fully dressed, despite the robe, but he didn’t spread his wings protectively. He was getting better about that, too. Instead, his eyes simply traveled back and forth between Harry and the fire, a question in them.

“I was just telling Kingsley that we don’t want to be Aurors anymore,” Harry said, holding Draco’s eyes and hoping he wouldn’t react with outrage. He hadn’t thought Draco was really committed to the Auror plans, so much as he was committed to remaining close to Harry, and training as Aurors was a way to do that.

Draco gave him a wondering glance, and then touched the tip of Harry’s wing and smiled. “That’s right. We’re independently wealthy enough to survive a while without a career, anyway. We can do whatever we want.”

“Yes,” Harry breathed, pleased to have guessed right. He bent down to kiss Draco’s cheek, but Draco turned his head and made it a full kiss.

Kingsley uttered a choking sound.

Draco was the first one to draw back from the kiss, which was unusual, and give the Floo a heavy-lidded glance of satisfaction. “We thought about it, but ultimately, what we need is each other’s company. And the company of people who _don’t_ think of us as dangerous simply because we don’t look human.”

Harry nodded, and spent a moment burying his head in Draco’s wing. Then he lifted it again and told Kingsley, “Thanks for the thought. It seems we won’t be troubling you after all, so you don’t have to come up with special training courses. I’ll be the one to tell Hermione.”

Kingsley closed his eyes. “Would it make a difference if I said that I was a sorry?” he whispered. “And that I wish it hadn’t worked out this way?”

Draco tensed in Harry’s arms as if he thought that meant Harry would go back to being in the Aurors. Harry gently stroked his head, soothing Draco as best as he could with his touch and a soft croon, and then nodded. “It makes a difference in the way I think of you. But I’m still not coming back.”

“What are you going to _do_ , then?”

“Take some time to think about it.” Harry pulled back enough to smile down at Draco’s bowed head. “We do have all that wealth, and I’ve never figured out how to spend mine properly. We should decide what we want to do, not just jump into the first idea that comes up. But we’ll do it together.”

Draco slowly raised his head and studied Harry for a minute. Then he smiled.

For the first time since the professors had started insisting that they practice their separation, he looked strong and determined, the mate Harry had first met. He took Harry’s hand and kissed the back of it, lingeringly, ignoring the sound of Kingsley coughing in the background.

Harry didn’t feel bad, either. A kiss on the hand was _nothing_ compared to what he had seen some Auror partners get up to when they thought no one was looking. And if Kingsley was really uncomfortable because they were both Veela, well, he wouldn’t ever have to get used to that now.

“Harry, if you _would_ —”

“Mr. Shacklebolt,” Harry said lightly, “I think this is the place where the conversation ends. If it’s Hermione you’re afraid of, don’t worry. Like I said, I’ll be the one to tell her.” Hermione would be relieved for one reason, he thought, even if she _did_ mourn the loss of one legal battle she could have used to test her stance on creature rights.

“It didn’t have to end this way.”

“No, it didn’t. But prejudice is a hard thing to work against,” Harry said, still keeping his head turned away from the fire.

It took longer than Harry had thought, a count of almost fifty by his heartbeat, but in the end, Kingsley gave a huge sigh and closed the Floo. Draco rattled his wings out, staring intently at Harry.

But he didn’t say anything that Harry had expected. Instead, he cocked his head and murmured, “The professors are going to think that we’re making love again because we can’t stand to be apart. Come on. We should get to breakfast.”

Harry nodded and went to put some clothes other than the dressing robe on. No chance that he would forget and walk out of the room like this with Draco here. He would be thinking too much of all the potential victims Draco could murder, if they caught a glimpse of Harry’s bare chest.

He started in surprise when he saw the light sparkling around him and Draco, the light from Malfoy Manor, their courtship gift. He hadn’t seen it in a while, he thought, since the healing Draco had performed on him after he’d rescued Harry from Lavaliere.

“I do love you.”

Draco’s voice was slow and rich, and Harry was glad just then that there was no one else here, probably for some of the same reasons Draco was. He didn’t want to think of any other Veela sharing this. He leaned back against Draco with a sigh and closed his eyes as Draco’s hand traced and outlined half the feathers on his wings before easing back. When he turned around, Draco had his eyes lowered and a look of peace on his face.

“I know you didn’t do it just for me,” Draco whispered. “They were just as prejudiced against you as they were against me.”

“I know. But they might have accepted it with the kind of training sessions that Hermione talked about, and because I used to be one of them and I’m so famous.” Harry touched Draco’s chin, tracing his fingers around the outline of Draco’s jaw. “I wanted a sincere acceptance or nothing at all, though.”

“And do you think—you said you _used_ to be one of them. You don’t think of yourself as a failed Auror now?”

Draco’s wings were trembling, which would have been a clue to the right answer even if Harry was a lot more stupid than he actually was. But he found his smile turning wry, not angry, and he said, “No. I’m your mate. And Harry Potter, who doesn’t need an Auror’s title to make himself look good.”

Draco leaned towards him and kissed him, so delicately that Harry felt a stir of hunger leap to life in his body, and that hunger wasn’t for food. But when he would have turned Draco sideways and pressed him up against the wall, Draco recovered with a sidestep and a gasp. “We have to go to breakfast.”

Only the thought of the professors bursting in when they were in the midst of making love made Harry sigh and step back, then reach for an actual open-backed shirt. “Okay.”

But it was easier this time, and didn’t leave either of them looking devastated, which Harry thought was a good sign that they were gaining some control over their bond.

If the way Draco eyed him up was any indication, they were doing that without losing control of other parts.

Harry was more than pleased.


	34. Tending Apart

“Come down, Mr. Potter. I think you’ve done enough flying on your own.”

Harry heard Testig clearly, even though she was standing far below him on the edge of the pillared walk that led up towards the school. He turned and promptly dived from his high soaring position, clean and graceful, and saw Testig wince as he flapped his wings hard, once, and ended up in front of her.

“Thought I would crash?” he asked, and shook some of the sweat from his wings and hair. He wanted to go find Draco right away, but he knew that would only confirm the professors’ suspicions that they needed even _more_ time apart.

“I thought you might, yes. But I should have known you would survive it just as you have survived other reckless stunts since you became mated to Mr. Malfoy.”

“Oh, be fair, professor,” Harry said, and grinned at her as they turned towards the school. He could feel the pull towards Draco, the way he thought Draco had towards him after Lavaliere had stuck him in the crate. “I was reckless a _long_ time before that.”

“Why? Was it only because you were in the middle of a war, and had no choice but to be so? If that is the case, give it up now. Your mating bond is under enough stress with your necessary separations.”

Harry smothered a frown with an effort. Sometimes he was sure Testig was completely on their side, and then she went and said things like this. “I took risks because I had to, Professor. I had to do it if I wanted to live, or win a Quidditch game. And Draco took risks right beside me when he played Seeker on the other House’s team.”

Testig gave a small shrug as she opened the door ahead of them. “I will admit that I have only the smallest notion of the rules of Quidditch, but because Mr. Malfoy took chances does not mean that either of you should take them now.”

Harry stared at her for a second, but then remembered how far the Veela lived out of the world. “We challenge each other. I would have gone higher if I was flying with him today, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” Testig snapped her wings once, making Harry look at her. “But that does not mean that you should do _anything_ other than what I have already told you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Harry, with a slight sigh, and then another door opened and he saw Draco stepping anxiously out of the room ahead of him. The instant he caught sight of Harry, he was airborne, even though the corridors were barely wide enough for his wings, and he crashed into him and crooned in his ear, spinning him around. Harry spread his arms and wings out so they wouldn’t crash to the ground, and danced in a circle with him, laughing.

“Have you listened to anything that Professor Helios told you while you were with him, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco at least heard Testig, Harry knew, because he managed to stop both dancing and laughing and give her a faint smile as he nodded. “Yes, Professor. And it was less difficult this time. After we started talking about magical theory, there were times when I forgot about Harry being away from me for whole minutes at a time.”

“Minutes in an hour?”

“They’re still progressing with their bond, Philomela,” said Professor Helios mildly, as he stepped out of the room behind Draco. It was the meditation room that he’d taken Harry to during that first separation of fifteen minutes. He nodded to Harry and then focused on Testig, faintly smiling. “And since we were part of the reason that Lavaliere was able to kidnap them in the first place…”

“How was it _our_ fault?”

“We should have been encouraging her to air her prejudices against transformed Veela from the beginning, so that we could end them. More than that, we should have seen her unhappiness at having a human mate, and taken some measures to encourage her to visit her family.”

“She got what she deserved…”

Harry chuckled as he listened to the professors bickering up the corridor. “I don’t think that Testig’s going to get much softer than she already has, even if she _does_ like us now.”

Draco nodded. He was looking Harry in the eye and sliding his hands up and down Harry’s shoulders beneath his wings, his own trembling softly.

“What is it?” Harry asked. This separation seemed to have been harder on Draco than the others, even though they were supposed to be getting easier as time went by, and the last one hadn’t been that bad.

Draco leaned forwards and laid his lips softly against Harry’s. Harry kissed him back at once, and then grunted as Draco suddenly beat his wings and drove them into the wall.

“I want you so badly,” Draco said. “We haven’t made love in _days_. And I know we’ve been busy, and I know we’ve had classes and these bloody separations, but I need more than that, sometimes.”

“Of course you do,” Harry said, and kissed him on the forehead. “I would have asked you for the same thing tonight.”

Draco blinked. “Why only tonight?” He looked almost ready to draw away again, as if he thought Harry was mocking him, or would laugh at him for his lack of self-control, since it was barely lunch now.

“Because I thought you would be more focused then and less prone to fussing about meals or missing classes.”

“As if I could be focused on much other than _you_ , after an hour apart.” Draco snagged his shoulder and dragged him towards their rooms. “Lunch can wait. I want to enjoy every benefit of being in a mating bond that talking with Professor Helios nearly made me forget.”

“What, magical theory isn’t fascinating?” Harry asked, chuckling as he followed Draco’s pull.

Draco turned on his heel and stared Harry in the eye with a directness that made him lose his laughter. “Not nearly as fascinating as you.”

Harry beat his wings to sail down the corridor after Draco. When he reached him, he scooped him up with a touch and carried him for a few meters before Draco dropped free and began to fly on his own. They swooped past startled faces and displeased ones and indulgent ones, but that didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered right now except Draco.

*

They crashed into Harry’s bed and knelt staring at each other for a few minutes, with Harry’s wings the only ones twitching. Draco seemed to have decided that he should hold still, and except for turning his head from side to side every few seconds, so Harry could admire some new line of his jaw or the fall of his hair, he didn’t move.

Harry’s will broke first, and he pounced.

Draco went down with a squawk, and Harry made sure that he didn’t pin or damage his wings against the bed. But then Draco was rolling over on top of him, and they nearly went over the edge. Harry solved that problem by hovering over Draco, who arranged himself so his wings were draped instead of pinned, and grinned softly up at him.

“How are you going to touch me if you don’t come down?”

“You’re the only reason I would come down,” Harry said, and reached out. His fingernail grew the tip of a claw when he thought about it, and he traced it slowly down Draco’s cheek and then his collarbone, not cutting, but fiercely tickling.

“Well,” said Draco, and his eyes were wide. He panted for a second as Harry worked the nail under his shirt, and arched when Harry began to slit it open. His panting was so severe by now that he sounded as if he was breathing too fast.

 _Well, we can’t have that,_ Harry thought, and considerately took his finger away. He grinned a little when Draco’s eyes flew open and he snarled in irritation.

“I didn’t realize you could still snarl,” Harry told him conversationally, and nearly landed on the bed. His knees touched it, but he still hovered just above it, and his fingers played too lightly along Draco’s skin to create real friction, even when Draco arched in desperation for it. “I thought you were reduced to chirping and cheeping.”

“I am not a bloody _bird._ I am a bloody _man_ who needs a _wank_ and you are refusing to _provide it!_ ”

“Oh, a wank is all you want, then.” Harry gave a shrug and started to reach down towards Draco’s groin. “I suppose that renders what I was going to offer you null and void.”

“Wait, what were you going to offer me?” Draco reached out and grabbed his wrist, glaring so fiercely that his feathers were standing on end around his face like a halo.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Since what you want is a wank. And I would never deny you anything you want.”

“Damn you, Harry,” said Draco raggedly, and then he grabbed Harry’s head and pressed it down towards his groin.

“Wait, why are you doing that? I only need my hand to jerk you off, you know,” said Harry, and widened his eyes, shaking his head a little.

“Harry Potter, if you don’t get your mouth on me _right now_ , I will—”

He probably had some stereotypical finish to that, like “not be held responsible for my actions,” but since Harry was mouthing him through the cloth of his trousers, he shut up with a squeak and a whistle. Harry grinned and then opened Draco’s trousers and slid and wriggled around on the bed a little. If he was going to do this right, he had to make sure _he_ was comfortable. Otherwise, he might have to stop in the middle of it, and he didn’t think that would be good for his own continued health.

Once he was draped over the bed with his wings comfortably out of the way and his head at the right height, Harry stuck out his tongue and delicately lapped Draco. Draco jerked up at once, with a slight whine.

 _More non-bird noises,_ Harry thought. “I think that was a chirp,” he said gravely, and then took Draco’s erection into his mouth just as Draco opened his mouth to speak.

Draco whistled again, his wings flapping desperately. Harry heard something fall to the floor, and snorted to himself. But Draco reacted so well to the sudden, small blast of warm air along the top of his shaft that Harry repeated it, and again, and only had to move his head a little when Draco’s compulsive jerking brought his cock up against Harry’s palate.

It was so much _fun_ to bring Draco pleasure. He was so responsive, beating his wings and pleading in a voice that became a bird’s cry halfway through, most of the time. Harry slipped his hands around Draco’s legs and held them as still as he could, while he snorted and blew and sucked and licked. Draco gave a breathy groan and dug his fingers into Harry’s hair.

Harry supposed that ought to have annoyed him, but it was just _exciting_. He took Draco as deep as he could as a reward, and Draco flapped again. Harry swallowed around him, and then kept doing it as fast as he could.

Draco came with no warning. Harry choked a little, but managed to twist his head to the side so that some splashed on the coverlet. Draco was half-sobbing by now, and his wings hammered the air so hard that Harry had to duck them.

Then he dropped back on the bed, pleased and spent. Harry sat back up, grinning at the sleepy look Draco gave him.

“You don’t have enough strength left to do the same to me, do you?” Harry murmured, bending down to give him a kiss.

“Yes, I do!” Draco started to sit up, and then a yawn threatened to crack his face in half. He fell back with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, Harry. I suppose I—don’t.” From the yawn he gave next, he was already half-asleep.

“Well, you can at least help me,” Harry said firmly, and opened his trousers, and knelt over Draco’s splayed legs, and grasped his hand.

Once Draco figured out what Harry wanted—it seemed to take a long time to penetrate his sleepy brain—he was more than eager to help him. And he leaned up for a sloppy kiss that seemed to take most of his remaining strength, since he had to lean almost drunkenly on Harry while Harry worked his hand around him.

Luckily, it didn’t take much to bring Harry off. Staring at Draco’s smile and the way he stuck out his tongue and stroked the air a few times did most of it. Harry groaned as he came in a long spurt, and fell forwards himself. They swayed in a pyramid of limp muscles for a few seconds, and then slumped halfway off the bed.

It took longer than Harry thought it would, but the sensation of blood rushing to his head finally persuaded him to sit back up and push Draco gently onto the pillows. Draco curled up and reached for him, then whined as Harry took up his wand.

“Clean up later. Bed now.”

Harry snorted again, although it was less fun when he wasn’t affecting Draco that way, and then managed to cast the cleaning spells he wanted anyway. Draco had gone to sleep curled up against him, so he couldn’t actually stop Harry.

And then Harry curled up and gave in to the utter temptation that was sleep.

*

Even with how tired he was, Harry still woke up in the middle of the night. He blinked at the ceiling and then the door and Floo, wondering if someone had tried to come in and that was what had awakened him. But when he reached out with detection spells, he could feel no one hiding in the room, even under a Disillusionment Charm or an Invisibility Cloak.

He lay still, expecting to fall asleep again, and only became more and more alert. Draco had moved so that he was on his side and his wings were lifted behind him, as if ready for flight. He kept on snoring, digging his nose into Harry’s flank now and then as if he wanted to find a comfortable spot between his ribs.

Harry studied Draco, the curves of his face and the way his fingers clenched into cloth and skin on Harry’s side. Draco was beautiful in the dim firelight, the way he was beautiful everywhere. Harry reached out, one hand held flat above Draco, and felt the bond softly tugging at him from inside Draco’s skin.

_But not as strongly as it did when we were separated._

Of course, that thought made him feel foolish as soon as he had it. Of course the bond wouldn’t work to pull them together as strongly when they were already beside each other.

But the more Harry thought about it, the more he thought there was something _different_ about the tug now, even from what he had felt when they were together before without the professors trying to separate them. It was less urgent. It felt less dangerous. As if the attraction to he felt to Draco was lessening, he thought in sudden panic, and his wings fluttered.

Or as if their desperation was.

Harry felt his wings finally droop back to normal as he remembered something Testig had said last week. She’d introduced lessons into her class on what happened to separated mates, seeing that a good fourth of her class was experiencing a distressed bond at the moment.

“ _When mates separate, they call to each other, at least if their bond is new and they have little experience in being apart. The bond can react to danger by drawing them closer to one another. And sometimes the feeling of stress and danger continues long past that initial moment. The bond does not react appropriately. It is as if adrenaline remained in your body long past the point when you needed it. You must learn to control possibly inappropriate emotions and reactions and stop them from controlling you. Ultimately, your bond’s call is only one manifestation of the partnership you share, and it should not be the strongest one.”_

And it seemed their bond had finally calmed. The adrenaline had finally drained.

Harry smiled and closed his eyes. It took him perhaps another hour to fall asleep, but that didn’t matter, not when the soft light of their courtship gift had begun to shine around them and he could feel the softer humming of Draco’s heart under his hand.


	35. Fairest of All

Harry walked slowly around the school for the fourth time, his head high. He could have spun and pointed straight through the window, and through all the walls between them, to where Draco was standing. But that wasn’t the point of this particular test.

The point was to keep his eyes focused forwards and his feet moving steadily. Testig didn’t even look that critical when his wings stirred and lifted several times, feeling the wind that blew through their bond rather than the physical one.

Finally, Harry reached the line that had been drawn with glowing white magic on the grass, and turned and studied Testig evenly.

“Impressive, Mr. Potter,” she said, with a slow nod that she turned into one of those gestures almost like a bow, her wings spread and fluttering around her. “I don’t think _I_ could have ignored my mate like that when I was your age.”

 _I wasn’t ignoring him. I was keeping my attention on something else._ But saying that might destroy the respect Testig had for him, not something Harry was anxious to do. He gave her a patient smile and asked, “Does that mean I can go back to him?”

“Of course, Mr. Potter.”

Harry immediately rose into the air. But before he could dart to the entrance that would bring him most quickly to Draco, he saw a winged shape streaking towards him. Professor Grunnell’s count of the time must have been a little less strict than Testig’s.

Harry put out his hands, and Draco slowed instinctively, because his mate wanted it, and reached out to interlink his fingers with Harry’s, instead of spinning them around the way he had the other day in the corridor. He even managed to wait until Harry leaned forwards and kissed him instead of the other way around, although fine tremors ran through his wings and body. Harry smoothed a feather gently to the end, and smiled.

“I love you,” he said.

“And I love you, and I hate spending time apart.” Draco grimaced down at the professors. Testig was standing and looking smugly up at them, and Grunnell had come to join her. Harry saw her say something to Testig that Testig responded to with a little snap of her head.

“I know. But we’ve proven to them that we _can._ And they believed me when I told them that our bond wasn’t strained anymore.”

“I can’t believe that you told them before me.”

“What? I did not!” All of Harry’s feathers bristled, because now, he understood how serious an accusation that was for one Veela mate to make to another. “I told you in the bathroom that morning when we were under the shower and you were at my feet deciding that I could shag you with—”

“You should have known I was hardly going to be listening to anything other than your voice,” Draco snapped, and fanned his wings.

“Well, I told you,” said Harry, and then they heard the professors’ voices calling them to come down.

Harry tossed Draco an indignant glance, and swooped to the ground. Draco was right behind him, but he didn’t bother complaining where there were other people who could hear them. He _did_ hold out a wing and touch Harry with the tip right in the middle of his back, though.

Harry shivered despite himself.

Testig nodded. “I think it’s gone well. Your bond has developed away from the strain that might have caused it to be malformed, and I saw you arguing a moment ago. That’s excellent.” She smiled serenely at Draco’s visible outrage. “It is, you know. If you’re confident enough to disagree with each other, that means you don’t think someone’s going to come in and separate you any second. Or that one of you might leave the minute you get angry.”

Draco looked away and mumbled something so uncomplimentary that Harry could only be glad Testig hadn’t appeared to hear it. “Does that mean we’re going to be able to leave the school?” Harry asked.

Testig considered, looked at Grunnell, and then ran her fingers through her own feathers as if that would be enough to let her answer the question. “As long as you have your allure and any other powers under control, I don’t see why not.”

Harry felt a sharp grin break over his face, and ignored the slight chiding expression on Grunnell’s. He turned to Draco. “Imagine showing me off to other people,” he murmured. “People who aren’t here and don’t understand all the Veela customs. Think about all the times you can snap at people for intruding _then_.”

Draco wore his own certain kind of joyful expression. Harry saw Testig shaking her head out of the corner of his eye, and widened his smile at her innocently. “What?”

“You shouldn’t encourage him. Particularly not to be angry at those who don’t know about the depths of a Veela bond.”

“Better than encouraging him to be angry at _me_.”

From the way Testig rolled her eyes, she had already accepted that they wouldn’t agree, and she moved on to something that interested her more. “You have decided not to accept the Ministry’s offer of employment?”

“It wasn’t an offer of employment as much as an offer to fit in and try to be human again,” said Harry bluntly. He had spoken the truth to Testig and the others when they asked what his plans were, but not as openly as this. “All the little dances around the truth about what would happen if one of us got injured, and how we had to be careful, and we had to let other Aurors say whatever they wanted…I don’t care for going back to that.”

“Neither do I. I want to be able to proudly claim my mate in public. Not hold back because there are Auror sensibilities to offend.”

Testig inclined her head as if she was giving Draco’s words serious consideration. “But both of you must understand that you can’t always attack those who might be offended by you proudly claiming your mate in public, either.”

“How many of these people are there going to be, compared to Aurors?”

From the small smile Testig gave them, Harry thought she might have been secretly angling to produce that response from Draco. “Quite. Well, I will recommend to the other professors that you be officially released from the school into a position of responsibility for yourselves.” She gave them a small bow that tilted her head so far forwards Harry couldn’t see her face, only the silvery hair tumbling between her wings. “And congratulations for managing a bond I didn’t think would work.”

Harry would have said something indignant, but Testig launched herself into flight from the bow, meaning he didn’t have the chance to catch her eye and scowl at her. He turned to Draco, only to find him smiling.

“You realize what this means?” Draco asked softly, trailing his fingers along the front of Harry’s shirt.

“Not really.” Harry was breathless for no good reason.

“It means that we’ll be away from people who might be prejudiced against transformed Veela.”

“And among people who might be prejudiced against Veela just for being magical creatures.”

Draco rolled his eyes at him. “Not _everyone_.”

“Well, not everyone here is prejudiced against transformed Veela, either—”

“ _My point_ ,” Draco said, so firmly that Harry jumped from the pressure of Draco’s wing against his back, “is that we’re finally going to go back into the wider world. This world is nice, but it’s so small and sheltered. And now we’re finally—leaving the nest, so to speak.”

“Ron and Hermione will accept you. You know that.”

Draco’s face changed in an instant, from a smile to astonishment. And then he laughed softly and leaned against Harry. “I’m not afraid of not being accepted, you berk. I’m _excited_ about seeing something other than the walls of this school.”

Harry could understand that. He thought he had strong enough control of his powers now that he wasn’t worried about hurting anyone, and although he might flinch from some of the words people would speak to them outside the walls of the school, he wasn’t _afraid_ of not being able to defend himself or Draco.

He wrapped his wings around Draco and bent to share a kiss. Draco murmured and scratched up his shoulders with the nails that had become talons, and Harry shoved him gently towards the bedroom. They had more than one thing to celebrate, and more than one way to do it, too.

*

“I, Philomela Testig…”

“And I, Miranda Grunnell…”

“And I, Justin Helios…”

The list of professors naming themselves went on, but Harry didn’t know most of the others, and didn’t bother to listen. Neither did he really look at the other Veela ready to leave the finishing school sharing the marble portico with them. His gaze caught on Draco, and held there.

Draco was so _beautiful_. His face was lightly flushed, and his wings moving softly on either side of him, and he was tilting his head back as if the breeze that soared above them had been made especially for him to watch the fluttering leaves of the trees.

Most of the other young Veela who had achieved adulthood seemed to be fighting the urge to hop up and down, but Harry only wanted to watch Draco, and reached out to cup his cheek. It was a pain to have to pull his attention away from Draco as the professors finished reciting their names, and handed the speech back to Testig.

“We all declare,” said Testig, looking around like a fierce hawk and lofting her wings so that the glowing bars and rings on the undersides flashed, “that these young Veela are young adults now, fully able to control their powers, and provide responsibly for themselves and their mates.” She brought her wings down.

Harry jumped as he felt an actual spark travel through him. When Testig and the others had talked about this ceremony, he had thought it was purely symbolic, and not really magical. But from the way his face flushed and Draco’s did the same, and then red faces moved all down the row, he had been wrong.

Testig cupped her hands as if around a tiny flame, and smiled at all of them. Harry thought she gave him a particularly meaningful smile, but he wasn’t sure. Her hands closed in harder and harder, until Harry found himself arching his neck to try and spot the light he was sure was there.

She opened her hands suddenly, fingers splaying out, and there was no light. But there was a magic that chased up Harry’s body and soothed the flush away from his face.

“I declare this group of young adults ready to fly!”

Harry heard a wild screech come from his own throat, even though he hadn’t been ready to do that. The same screech echoed all along the row, too. And Draco was beating his wings hard enough that his heels rose a few centimeters from the portico.

Harry snugged a wing around him, even though he wanted nothing more than to fly himself. He knew the ceremony wasn’t done yet.

Testig looked around at all of them, nodding, but it was Professor Helios who spoke the final words. “Winds of blessing stroke your wings, bear you up, and carry you to your destination. If you have your mate already, winds bless your union. If you are looking for them, may the winds carry you home to them soon.”

And he bowed his head and drooped his wings at the same moment as all the professors did theirs, and Harry found himself flying beside Draco with no more plan than when he had screeched.

“I hadn’t realized how strong the professors’ magic was,” Draco panted, his eyes blinking as he looked down at the portico, and then the six other young Veela flying beside them. “I didn’t know it could _throw_ us like that!”

“They’ve always been able to do that,” said a Veela woman with eyes so pale a blue that they looked almost white.

Draco bristled at the condescending tone, but Harry waved a hand and drew Draco’s attention back to him. “So now what do you want to do?” he asked. “Go back for that feast? Or away?”

Draco raked his gaze slowly across the grounds of the school, as though it was taking him time to appreciate the fact that they were truly free. Harry remained quiet, although he could make out Draco’s thoughts from the flickers of emotion in his eyes. He was looking at the place where they’d first met as transformed Veela, and the windows of the classrooms where they’d suffered through lessons they thought were useless, and the portico where they’d stood just now, ready to fly.

Draco turned and smiled at Harry. “Part of me will always treasure our time together here because it’s where we became mates,” he said quietly. “But we don’t need to stay here _forever_ because of that.”

Harry grinned and spread his wings. “Good choice.”

Instantly Draco was suspicious, tilting his head back and beating his wings faster even as he followed Harry. “What do you mean by that? Why did you leave me the choice and then act like you were happy I chose one thing over the other?”

Harry gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look. “What, I’m not allowed to have my own preferences even if I abide by yours?”

“ _Harry_.”

Harry did duck his head once to hide his grin, and then reached out and caught Draco’s hand. “Ron and Hermione really want to meet you—properly. And that means a meal they’ve prepared and in their house, with us together.”

“And not half-naked,” Draco said with a scowl, probably remembering Hermione’s intrusion through the Floo that night.

“Exactly.” Harry raised Draco’s knuckles to his mouth and kissed the back of his hand. “Think you can put up with that long enough to get to know them, too?”

Draco looked down at the clouds passing beneath them. Harry had taken the lead, since he was the one who knew the way to Ron and Hermione’s house, but Draco didn’t object to following him. He was thinking.

“They’re going to have to be special to me, too, because they’re your friends,” Draco said, in a tone of reluctance so great that Harry turned upside-down for a moment specifically to keep from smiling. “Just as long as neither of them try to touch you or claim you like you’re a lover. And tell your Weasley _not_ to call you mate.”

“Will do,” Harry promised. He didn’t think it would be that hard. Ron would have had a month to listen to Hermione on the subject of Draco’s new sensitivities, and he always learned fast when he wanted to—which meant, mostly when it came to Harry and Hermione. And it wasn’t like Ginny would be there.

Not that he and Ginny had dated in years. Somehow, Harry thought that wouldn’t matter to Draco.

“Where do they live, anyway?”

Harry grinned again and led the way, rejoicing in the movement of his wings and the soft pressure of Draco’s feathers against his whenever they flew close enough together. Flying on a broom would always be grand, but his own wings—and his mate’s wings—were better.

*

“Hi, m—I mean, Harry.”

Ron was leaning forwards with one arm out in the kind of half-hug he liked to use with Harry, and Draco was already bristling, but at least Ron had stopped himself from saying the dreaded word. Harry leaned in, let Ron hug him, and patted him on the back, all the time keeping his focus on Draco so he could see how different Harry was when he was with his mate.

In some ways, their bond was still new and fragile. But they would work on making it stronger every day.

“Hello, Harry, Draco.” Hermione was standing in the doorway of the small house she and Ron had bought in Hogsmeade, lit by the radiance of the kitchen. She studied them both as if to make sure they hadn’t come to any harm in their flight, and then she nodded and sighed a little. “You know, you deprived me of a battle I really wanted by backing out of joining the Ministry again.”

“There’ll be other battles,” Harry pointed out. “Especially since you’re working with house-elves.” Draco had smoothed his feathers down. He seemed to think of Hermione as less of a threat, maybe because he’d met her more times already.

“True enough,” said Hermione, with a faint smile, and came out to hold Harry in her arms. Still Draco stayed relaxed—although he jumped when Hermione turned to him and held out her hand. Then he hesitantly clasped it, staring down as if he thought that his hand might grow wings of its own and fly away.

“Come on in,” Ron added over his shoulder as he led the way into the house. “I’ve been cooking most of the day, and the vegetables are tender enough that you’ll have to struggle to keep them on your fork.”

“Is it too late to tell him that I mostly eat with my fingers?” Draco muttered into Harry’s ear.

Harry wrapped an arm around his shoulders instead of responding, and led Draco into the house. Behind them, Hermione was muttering something that sounded like practice for an argument about house-elves. In front of them, Ron was pouring water out of a huge cauldron into another that would drain the water and leave only the tender, steaming carrots and potatoes and others behind.

Beside him, Draco leaned against his side like a huge, warm cat.

Harry sighed out slowly, and flapped his wings in sheer, perfect contentment.

**The End.**


End file.
